Poems (Hinchman)/How empty here is every hope we know
XXXVIIITranslated from Lorenzo de' Medici."Quanto sia vana ogni speranza nostra."
How empty here is every hope we know,
How fallible each plan is and how vain,
How full of ignorance we still remain,
Death, the controller of all things, doth show.
Some in song, dance, and game let their lives go;
Others fair thoughts and gentle entertain;
Others the world and the world's ways disdain;
Some never tell of inner joy and woe.
How fallible each plan is and how vain,
How full of ignorance we still remain,
Death, the controller of all things, doth show.
Some in song, dance, and game let their lives go;
Others fair thoughts and gentle entertain;
Others the world and the world's ways disdain;
Some never tell of inner joy and woe.
This errant world holds such variety:
Vain cares and thoughts, many and diverse fates
Each age beholds great Nature bring to birth.
Yea, everything is fleet and hardly waits,
For fortune is most fickle on this earth,
And death alone stands everlastingly.
Vain cares and thoughts, many and diverse fates
Each age beholds great Nature bring to birth.
Yea, everything is fleet and hardly waits,
For fortune is most fickle on this earth,
And death alone stands everlastingly.