ON THE SHORTNESS OF TIME <br />If I could live without the thought of death, <br />Forgetful of time's waste, the soul's decay, <br />I would not ask for other joy than breath <br />With light and sound of birds and the sun's ray. <br />I could sit on untroubled day by day <br />Watching the grass grow, and the wild flowers range <br />From blue to yellow and from red to grey <br />In natural sequence as the seasons change. <br />I could afford to wait, but for the hurt <br />Of this dull tick of time which chides my ear. <br />But now I dare not sit with loins ungirt <br />And staff unlifted, for death stands too near. <br />I must be up and doing--ay, each minute. <br />The grave gives time for rest when we are in it.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-part-iv-vita-nova-xcvi/
