Tuesday

The Hour-Glass (Poem by Ben Jonson)


The Hour-Glass

Consider this small dust, here 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,
Was turned to cinders by her eye:
Yes ; and in death, as life unblest,
To have't exprest,
Even ashes of lovers find no rest.

by Ben Jonson (1572-1637)


Posted by ALCHEssMIST.
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