Poem by Ben Jonson

Living By

Walking, snow falling, it is possible
to focus at various distances
in turn on separate flakes, sharply engage
the attention at several spatial points:
the nearer cold and more uncomfortable,
the farther distanced and almost pleasing.

Living, time passing, it is preferable
to focus the memory in turn upon
the more distant retrospects in order
that the present mind may retain its peace.

Yet knowing that seeing and remembering
are both of course personal illusions. 

1. Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke
2. A Hymn to God the Father
3. To Censorious Courtling
4. On Poet-Ape
5. Hymn to the Belly

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