This Life, which seems so fair,
Is like a bubble blown up in the air
By sporting children’s breath,
Who chase it everywhere
And strive who can most motion it bequeath.
And though it sometimes seem of its own might,
Like to an eye of gold, to be fixed there,
And firm to hover in that empty height,
That only is because it is so light.
But in that pomp it doth not long appear;
For when ’tis most admired, in a thought,
Because it erst was naught, it turns to naught.

Hans Heyerdahl (Norwegian, 1857-1913), Boy Blowing Bubbles, 1882. Oil on canvas.