Analysis of The Vanities Of Life

John Clare 1793 (Helpston) – 1864 (St Andrew's Hospital)



Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.--_Solomon_

What are life's joys and gains?
What pleasures crowd its ways,
That man should take such pains
To seek them all his days?
Sift this untoward strife
On which thy mind is bent:
See if this chaff of life
Is worth the trouble spent.

Is pride thy heart's desire?
Is power thy climbing aim?
Is love thy folly's fire?
Is wealth thy restless game?
Pride, power, love, wealth, and all
Time's touchstone shall destroy,
And, like base coin, prove all
Vain substitutes for joy.

Dost think that pride exalts
Thyself in other's eyes,
And hides thy folly's faults,
Which reason will despise?
Dost strut, and turn, and stride,
Like walking weathercocks?
The shadow by thy side
Becomes thy ape, and mocks.

Dost think that power's disguise
Can make thee mighty seem?
It may in folly's eyes,
But not in worth's esteem,
When all that thou canst ask,
And all that she can give,
Is but a paltry mask
Which tyrants wear and live.

Go, let thy fancies range
And ramble where they may;
View power in every change,
And what is the display?
--The country magistrate,
The meanest shade in power,
To rulers of the state,
The meteors of an hour.

View all, and mark the end
Of every proud extreme,
Where flattery turns a friend,
And counterfeits esteem;
Where worth is aped in show,
That doth her name purloin,
Like toys of golden glow
That's sold for copper coin.

Ambition's haughty nod
With fancies may deceive,
Nay, tell thee thou'rt a god,
And wilt thou such believe?
Go, bid the seas be dry;
Go, hold earth like a ball,
Or throw thy fancies by,
For God can do it all.

Dost thou possess the dower
Of laws to spare or kill?
Call it not heavenly power
When but a tyrant's will.
Know what a God will do,
And know thyself a fool,
Nor, tyrant-like, pursue
Where He alone should rule.

O put away thy pride,
Or be ashamed of power
That cannot turn aside
The breeze that waves a flower.
Or bid the clouds be still:
Though shadows, they can brave
Thy poor power mocking will:
Then make not man a slave.

Dost think, when wealth is won,
Thy heart has its desire?
Hold ice up to the sun,
And wax before the fire;
Nor triumph oer the reign
Which they so soon resign;
In this world's ways they gain,
Insurance safe as thine.

Dost think life's peace secure
In house and in land?
Go, read the fairy lure
To twist a cord in sand;
Lodge stones upon the sky,
Hold water in a sieve,
Nor give such tales the lie,
And still thine own believe.

Whoso with riches deals,
And thinks peace bought and sold,
Will find them slipping eels,
That slide the firmest hold:
Though sweet as sleep with health
Thy lulling luck may be,
Pride may oerstride thy wealth,
And check prosperity.

Dost think that beauty's power
Life sweetest pleasure gives?
Go, pluck the summer flower,
And see how long it lives:
Behold, the rays glide on
Along the summer plain
Ere thou canst say 'they're gone,'
And measure beauty's reign.

Look on the brightest eye,
Nor teach it to be proud;
View but the clearest sky,
And thou shalt find a cloud;
Nor call each face ye meet
An angel's, cause it's fair,
But look beneath your feet,
And think of what they are.

Who thinks that love doth live
In beauty's tempting show,
Shall find his hopes ungive,
And melt in reason's thaw.
Who thinks that pleasure lies
In every fairy bower,
Shall oft, to his surprise,
Find poison in the flower.

Dost lawless passions grasp?
Judge not thou deal'st in joy:
Its flowers but hide the asp,
Thy revels to destroy.
Who trusts an harlot's smile,
And by her wiles are led,
Plays, with a sword the while
Hung dropping oer his head.

Dost doubt my warning song?
Then doubt the sun gives light,
Doubt truth to teach thee wrong,
And wrong alone as right;
And live as lives the knave,
Intrigue's deceiving guest;
Be tyrant, or be slave,
As suits thy ends the best.

Or pause amid thy toils
For visions won and lost,
And count the fancied spoils,
If eer they quit the cost:
And if they still possess
Thy mind, as worthy things,
Plat straws with bedlam Bess,
And call them diamond rings.

Thy folly's past advice,
Thy heart's already won,
Thy fall's above all price,
So go, and be undone;
For all who thus prefer


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Poetic Form
Metre 1001100111001 111101 110111 111111 111111 110011 111111 111111 110101 1111010 1101101 111110 111101 1101101 11101 011111 11011 111101 10101 01111 110101 110101 1101 01111 011101 1111001 111101 11011 110101 111111 011111 110101 110101 111101 010111 11001001 011001 01010 0101010 110101 01001110 110101 1100101 1100101 01001 111101 110101 111101 111101 1101 110101 111101 011101 110111 111101 111101 111111 110101 111111 11110010 11011 110111 01101 110101 110111 110111 1101110 110101 0111010 110111 11111 1110101 111101 111111 1111010 111101 0101010 110101 111101 011111 010111 111101 01001 110101 110101 110101 110001 111101 011101 11101 011101 111101 110101 111111 110111 11111 010100 111110 110101 1101010 011111 010111 010101 111111 01011 110101 111111 110101 011101 111111 11111 110111 011111 111111 01101 11111 01011 111101 01001010 111101 1100010 110101 1111101 1101101 110101 11111 010111 110101 110111 111101 110111 111111 010111 011101 10101 110111 111101 110111 110101 010101 111101 011101 111101 111101 011101 11101 110101 110111 110101 1111011
Closest metre Iambic trimeter
Characters 3,992
Words 764
Sentences 41
Stanzas 20
Stanza Lengths 1, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 5
Lines Amount 150
Letters per line (avg) 21
Words per line (avg) 5
Letters per stanza (avg) 160
Words per stanza (avg) 38
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 27, 2023

3:57 min read
137

John Clare

John Clare was an English poet in his time he was commonly known as the Northamptonshire Peasant Poet more…

All John Clare poems | John Clare Books

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