Page:Works of Voltaire Volume 36.djvu/234

The king begins another day,
Yet knows not where to take his way:
Tired of himself he straight repairs
To company, to soothe his cares.

But pleasure flies from his embrace,
It rises not from change of place;
This day's insipid as the last,
At night he knows not how it passed.

Time's loss is not to be repaired,
Life's to an instant well compared;
What, when life posts away so fast,
Can days appear so long to last?

Princess, whose worth above thy age,
All hearts at two courts can engage;
You usefully that time employ,
By youth consumed in rapid joy.

The genius given by heaven benign,
You strive to polish and refine,
By studies which at once unite
Instructions solid, with delight.

'Tis best the mind should be employed,
Indolence leaves a craving void;
The soul is like a subtile fire,
Which if not fed must soon expire.