* <br /> <br /> <br />LIKE to the damaske rose you see, <br />Or like the blossome on the tree, <br />Or like the daintie flower of May, <br />Or like the Morning to the day, <br />Or like the Sunne, or like the shade, <br />Or like the Gourd which Jonas had; <br /> Even such is man whose thred is spun, <br /> Drawn out and cut, and so is done. <br /> <br />The Rose withers, the blossome blasteth, <br />The flowre fades, the morning hasteth: <br />The Sunne sets, the shadow flies, <br />The Gourd consumes, and man he dies. <br /> <br />Like to the blaze of fond delight; <br />Or like a morning cleare and bright; <br />Or like a frost, or like a showre; <br />Or like the pride of Babel's Tower; <br /> <br />Or like the houre that guides the time; <br />Or like to beauty in her prime; <br /> Even such is man, whose glory lends <br /> His life a blaze or two, and ends. <br /> <br />Delights vanish; the morne o'ercasteth, <br />The frost breaks, the shower hasteth; <br />The Tower falls, the hower spends; <br />The beauty fades, and man's life ends. <br /> <br /> <br />*<br /><br />Francis Quarles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hos-ego-versiculos/
