The Poets and Poetry of America/Human Frailty

by Philip Freneau

Disasters on disasters grow,
  And those which are not sent we make;
The good we rarely find below,
  Or, in the search, the road mistake.

The object of our fancied joys
  With eager eye we keep in view:
Possessions, when acquired, destroys
  The object, and the passion too.

The hat that hid Belinda's hair
  Was once the darling of her eye;
'Tis now dismiss'd, she knows not where;
  Is laid aside, she knows not why.

Life is to most a nauseous pill,
  A treat for which they dearly pay:
Let's take the good, avoid the ill,
  Discharge the debt, and walk away.