The Vain Question

Why should we court the storms that rave and rend,

Safe at our household hearth?

Why, starved and naked, without home or friend,

Unknowing whence we came or where we wend,

Follow from no beginning to no end

An uncrowned martyr’s path?

Is it worth while to waste our all in vain?

To seek, and not to know?

To strive for something we can never gain,

To labour blindly for a wage of pain,

And crack our heartstrings with the stress and strain,

And reap no field we sow?

What does it matter whether love or hate,

Or praise or blame, be theirs

Who pass like shadows, with no time to wait

For understanding of the ways of fate,

Which makes the hopeless desert blossom late,

And kills good wheat with tares?

Why do we choose to suffer, when we might

Lie down to sleep and dream?

Is praise for men who try to do the right?

Is blame for him who shirks the deadly fight?

And whose the friendship that is heart’s delight?

And whose the love supreme?

Wide do we set our sanctuary door

That fairest guest to greet,

And find too late, when we have shown our store,

The sacred places rudely trampled o’er,

Bereaved, profaned, and soiled for evermore

With tread of vulgar feet.

And nothing left to solace us but this,

At such a frightful cost-

A taste, a glimpse, the memory of a kiss;

Only a sense of what diviner bliss,

That might have been, we have contrived to miss;

Only what love has lost.

And brother-bond-the loyal comradeship

That comes to every call-

What worth the smiling eye, the warm hand-grip,

The benediction of the kindly lip?

Sickness, old age or poverty can strip

The value from them all.

And faith, embalmed in immemorial creed-

Once our supreme support,

Our staff and beacon to uphold and lead-

A light extinguished and a broken reed!

And where, O where, in bitter time of need,

Shall substitute be sought?

Wherefore this anguish of desire to see

That which concerns us not-

The evolution of the life to be,

The distant course, the final destiny

Of worlds and men-the ages wherein we

Shall have no part or lot?

Why not shut eyes of spirit and of brain

That can torment us thus?

Why not take something to assuage the pain,

And shut the doors and go to sleep again?

The Search may be successful or in vain,

What matters it to us?

Is it worth while, when house and home are here,

And we can dwell at ease,

To go forth, lonely, and in mortal fear,

To travel roads that lead not anywhere,

As bare of lamp or signpost, far or near,

And full of thorns, as these?

To leave the Good whereof we are possest,

To seek, in senseless grief,

For some divine but ever unknown Best,

And see no goal and find no place of rest-

Is it worth while, on such a fruitless quest

To waste a life so brief?

We must not ask-we must not ask again.

We have to wait and see.

Press on, poor soul, along the path of pain

That is the one thing absolutely plain.

The last assessment of the loss and gain

Is not a task for thee.

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External links

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Poems in English 

• Robert Burns: The Farewell: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Stanzas On Naething: Extempore Epistle to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Lines Written On A Banknote: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Lines To Mr. John Kennedy: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Motto Prefixed To The Author’s First Publication: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Lines To An Old Sweetheart: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Lass O’ Ballochmyle: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epitaph On “Wee Johnie”: Hic Jacet wee Johnie. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epitaph For Gavin Hamilton, Esq.: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epitaph For Robert Aiken, Esq.: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: A Bard’s Epitaph: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Farewell To Eliza: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: On A Scotch Bard, Gone To The West Indies: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Farewell To the Brethren of St. James’ Lodge, Tarbolton: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Versified Note To Dr. Mackenzie, Mauchline: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: A Dedication : To Gavin Hamilton, Esq. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: A Dream: Thoughts, words, and deeds, the Statute blames with reason; But surely Dreams were ne’er indicted Treason. On reading, in the public papers, the Laureate’s Ode, with the other parade of June 4th, 1786, the Author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the Birth-day Levee: and, in his dreaming fancy, made the following Address: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Address Of Beelzebub: To the Right Honourable the Earl of Breadalbane, President of the Right Honourable and Honourable the Highland Society, which met on the 23rd of May last at the Shakespeare, Covent Garden, to concert ways and means to frustrate the designs of five hundred Highlanders, who, as the Society were informed by Mr. M’Kenzie of Applecross, were so audacious as to attempt an escape from their lawful lords and masters whose property they were, by emigrating from the lands of Mr. Macdonald of Glengary to the wilds of Canada, in search of that fantastic thing-Liberty. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epistle To A Young Friend: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: My Highland Lassie, O: by Robert Burns

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Dealing Monster

Doska or the Board – write anything

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Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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