work_id,theme,provenance,created_at,text,reviewed_on,id,comments,metaphor,dictionary,updated_at,context 3840,"",Searching in HDIS (Poetry),2005-11-14 00:00:00 UTC,"But though with all this pomp of words we prate,
And paint the happy glories
Which grace the triumphs of a future State;
Yet sure we think 'em sensless stories,
The pageantry of some distempered Head,
Which fancies Pencil did delineate,
The broken visions of the living when they dream'd 'oth' dead
.
That we are so loth to die,
Proceeds from infidelity;
For whatsoe're the mighty Men of Sense,
Those skulls of Axiome and Philosophy,
By reasons Telescope pretend t' evince,
Beyond this World we can no other see,
And not to be
Worse than lifes greatest storm appears,
Than all its Hurricanes of hopes and fears;
So some baulkt Gamester who hath but one poor Stake
Left of his Stock, and knows not when he may
Get more to keep in play,
Does his last chance with trembling take,
And fain he would the fatal throw delay,
The Box once lost to him for ever's past away.",,9880,"","""Yet sure we think 'em sensless stories, / The pageantry of some distempered Head, / Which fancies Pencil did delineate, / The broken visions of the living when they dream'd 'oth' dead.""","",2011-11-24 18:57:00 UTC,Stanza IV.