Posted by Admin on 17 May 2006, 12:00 am
Vainly we strive if star-crossed we were born,
ev’ry endeavour subjected to scorn:
Fickle Fortuna withholding a boon,
lost in the evening the gains won at noon:
for each rose we’ve plucked, a wound by a thorn.
Past inner conflicts our strained nerves have torn:
failed by false friends and by foes now forsworn,
youthful ambition a punctured balloon,
vainly we strive.
Knowing no laurels our brow will adorn,
stubborn, we cling to a hope most forlorn:
bleak tho’ in future our prospects may loom
(history warns us we should that assume)
adamant ever as rocks at Cape Horn,
vainly we strive.
T. C. Hudson
© T. C. Hudson.
This work may not be reproduced without prior permission of the author.
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