Written in Claverton Church Yard, Somersetshire

We present this work in honor of the poet’s 250th birthday.

J.S. Anna Liddiard
Irish 1773 – 1819


Death’s sleep soon flies;—They’ll wake again,
To scorn past life, so full of pain!
‘Tis we that sleep—‘tis we that dream—
Altho’ so much awake we seem;
Awake! —alas! —one dream is Life,
A Phantasma—a scene of strife—
By folly led, by passions torn,
Until we reach Life’s destined bourn!

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