They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
[The title translates, from the Latin, as
‘The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long’
And is from a work by Horace]