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Poem by Ben Jonson


The Hourglass


DO but consider this small dust, here running in the glass,
By atoms moved.
Could you believe that this the body was
Of one that loved?
 
And in his mistress' flame playing like a fly,
Turned to cinders by her eye?
Yes, and in death as life unblest,
To have't expressed,
Even ashes of lovers find no rest.



Ben Jonson


Ben Jonson's other poems:
  1. To Censorious Courtling
  2. The Noble Balm
  3. On A Robbery
  4. To Francis Beaumont
  5. Porth Ceiriad Bay


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