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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519590" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>What is Our Life</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519590" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">WHAT is our life? The play of passion. <br>Our mirth? The music of division: <br>Our mothers’ wombs the tiring-houses be, <br>Where we are dressed for life’s short comedy. <br>The earth the stage; Heaven the spectator is, <br>Who sits and views whosoe’er doth act amiss. <br>The graves which hide us from the scorching sun <br>Are like drawn curtains when the play is done. <br>Thus playing post we to our latest rest, <br>And then we die in earnest, not in jest.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Sir+Walter+Raleigh">Sir Walter Raleigh</a></strong></div>

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