And what's a life? A weary pilgrimage, <br />Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage <br />With childhood, manhood, and decrepit age. <br /> <br />And what's a life? The flourishing array <br />Of the proud summer-meadow, which to-day <br />Wears her green plush, and is to-morrow hay. <br /> <br />Read on this dial, how the shades devour <br />My short-lived winter's day! hour eats up the hour; <br />Alas! the total's but from eight to four. <br /> <br />Behold these lilies, which Thy hands have made <br />Fair copies of my life, and open laid <br />To view, how soon they droop, how soon they fade! <br /> <br />Shade not that dial, night will blind too soon; <br />My nonaged day already points to noon; <br />How simple is my suit! how small my boon! <br /> <br />Nor do I beg this slender inch to wile <br />The time away, or falsely to beguile <br />My thoughts with joy: here's nothing worth a smile.<br /><br />Francis Quarles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-shortness-of-life/
