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Leaving behind him, as he flies
An unperceived dimness in thine eyes.
An unperceived dimness in thine eyes.
His minutes whilst they are told,
Do make us old,
And every sand of his fleet glass,
Increasing age as it doth pass,
Insensibly sows wrinkles here,
Where flow'rs and roses did appear.
Do make us old,
And every sand of his fleet glass,
Increasing age as it doth pass,
Insensibly sows wrinkles here,
Where flow'rs and roses did appear.
Whilst we do speak our fire
Doth into ice expire;
Flames turn to frost,
And ere we can,
Know how our crow turns swan,
Or how a silver snow,
Springs there, where jet did grow,
Our fading spring is in dull winter lost.
Mayne. 1609.
Doth into ice expire;
Flames turn to frost,
And ere we can,
Know how our crow turns swan,
Or how a silver snow,
Springs there, where jet did grow,
Our fading spring is in dull winter lost.
Mayne. 1609.
Life is a shadow that departeth, a dream of error, the fruitless labour of imagined existence.—Russian Funeral Service.
The bird that flies from fost'ring care,
May truant-like, awhile be gay,
May warble through the yielding air,
And revel in the blaze of day,
May truant-like, awhile be gay,
May warble through the yielding air,
And revel in the blaze of day,
