The One Certainty

Lightly I hold my life, with little dread
And little hope for what may spring therefrom,
But live like one that builds a summer's home
Of branches on a dried-up river-bed,
And takes no thought of frescoed blue and red
To paint the walls, and plans no golden dome,
Knowing the flood, when autumn rains are come,
Shall roll its ruining waters overhead.

And wherefore should I plant my ground and sow?
—Since, though I reck not of the day or hour,
The conqueror comes at last, the alien foe
Shall come to my defenceless place in power,
With force, with arms, with strenuous overthrow,
Taking the goods I gathered for his dower.