Upon the mirror of desire

How oft, in this harsh and hasty world of strife,
Where men contend and crowns are forged in woe,
Doth reason falter, swept by tides of life,
And lofty purpose yield to what winds blow?
For I, with trembling soul and weary thought,
Did mark my triumphs, dearly earned and frail —
Yet found, by fate’s caprice, my nature caught
Within the scales where others’ deeds prevail.

What hours, what golden days, are idly spent
In mimic pageant, shadows not our own?
What hungers press us, ever discontent —
Are they our seeds, or foreign tares thus sown?
Is’t mine, this thirst for gold, for fleeting praise?
Or doth the world its mask upon me lay?
Do I, unknowing, wander others’ ways,
And lose my voice in echo and in play?

Now stand I here, and all the noise is fled;
The forest silent, save for one tree’s fall.
Who am I then, when masks and dreams are dead?
When none but I do hear my spirit’s call?
O teach me, Time, to know what is my own —
And let me walk unseen, but not alone.

Will-AI-am Shakespeare