Poems (Angier)/Bubbles

by Annie Lanman Angier

BUBBLES.

There are blowers of bubbles, whose names might be told,
Did we not deem it wiser the same to withhold;
Since the sport which so pleases in life's early stage,
A charm hath for manhood, for youth, and for age.

A grave politician blows bubbles so large,
They float o'er his mind like some gay Venice barge;
While a shrewd-looking captain sits guiding the helm,
Who smiles as he sees himself peer of the realm.

The scene is soon changed to a sorrowful sight,
That bubble has burst, every smile of last night
Has gone from the lip, like the stars from the sky—
There is naught left the blower but one wish—to die.

Some bubbles there are which float longer in air,
While most only linger a brief second there;
Each bursting at length, there only remains
A bitter reward for our labor and pains.

Thus all blow their bubbles, and all see them burst
Like those which in childhood we blew at the first;
But something is gained, for a moral was found
Where our first bubbles broke on touching the ground.

The lesson is this—let your aims be so high
That naught this side heaven shall the soul satisfy;
Then so far above earth will your strong bubbles rise,
They shall bear up their blowers—nor burst in the skies.