THE HOUR-GLASS
by: Ben Jonson (1572-1637)
- O but consider
this small dust, here running in the glass,
- By atoms moved.
- Could you believe that this the body was
- Of one that loved?
-
- And in his mistress' flame playing like a fly,
- Turned to cinders by her eye?
- Yes, and in death as life unblest,
- To have't expressed,
- Even ashes of lovers find no rest.
"The Hour-Glass" is reprinted
from Underwoods (1640). |
MORE
POEMS BY BEN JONSON |
|