O woe, woe,
People are born and die,
We also shall be dead pretty soon
Therefore let us act as if we were
dead already.
The bird sits on the hawthorn tree
But he dies also, presently.
Some lads get hung, and some get shot.
Woeful is this human lot.
Woe! woe, etcetera . . . .
London is a woeful place,
Shropshire is much pleasanter.
Then let us smile a little space
Upon fond nature's morbid grace.
Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera . . .
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Comments1Just came across this poem by Ezra Pound that I remember reading ages ago. It's a bit morose and somber, but somehow it has its own charm. The author really captures the impermanence and inevitability of life and death. Although the poem's got a dark tone, there's still a touch of lightness in it too. It's amazing how poet's can play with words to evoke such strong emotions.