Like to the falling of a star, <br />Or as the flights of eagles are, <br />Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, <br />Or silver drops of morning dew, <br />Or like a wind that chafes the flood, <br />Or bubbles which on water stood: <br />Even such is man, whose borrowed light <br />Is straight called in, and paid to night. <br />The wind blows out, the bubble dies; <br />The spring entombed in autumn lies; <br />The dew dries up, the star is shot; <br />The flight is past, and man forgot.<br /><br />Henry King<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sic-vita-3/
