Danger (wiersz klasyka)

  Danger

WITH what a childish and short-sighted sense

Fear seeks for safety; recons up the days

Of danger and escape, the hours and ways

Of death; it breathless flies the pestilence;

It walls itself in towers of defence;

By land, by sea, against the storm it lays

Down barriers; then, comforted, it says:

"This spot, this hour is safe." Oh, vain pretence!

Man born of man knows nothing when he goes;

The winds blow where they list, and will disclose

To no man which brings safety, which brings risk.

The mighty are brought low by many a thing

Too small to name. Beneath the daisy's disk

Lies hid the pebble for the fatal sling. Helen Hunt Jackson