To One Who Said He Was Bored with Life

It bores you, then, to live and die
Upon this cloud-scarfed ball
That drops from space to space of sky
In one eternal fall?

With the great heavens drawn above,
Beneath, the wondrous earth,
How strange is life, how strange is love,
And death, that walks with birth. ...

O, when I die, say I lived ill,
Say that my days were poured
Like wasted wine, say all you will,
But never, " Kemp was bored. "
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