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English Sonnet 337
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Some where ah! There is end to everything;
Enthralling happiness, degrading grief,
And starving mendicant or mighty king
Are blessed with a tenure, short and brief.

For moments, they, then hold their mighty sway,
But after limited moments, slip away;
And any stabbing pain or any pleasure
Is never without end or without measure,

Ah! Everything that begins, finally ends,
And everything that ends is left alone,
Ah! Nothing one possesses, foes or friends;
And only end is, in the end one’s own.

In peaceful moment or in noisy brawl,
I hasten, hasten, hasten to its call.

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