Dora Sigerson Shorter

“ Give wine for its hot veins, fame for its throne, and laughter for its lips,
All ends in one eclipse.
Sunshine or snows.
We gain a grave, and afterwards—God knows.
Bemoan beside your fire your own particular fate, that evil wind
That blows for you no mercy, think till the wearied mind
Doth ease itself in tears, or reason from her high throne slips,
So ends life in eclipse,
However the wind blows,
We gain a grave, and afterwards—God knows. ”