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.

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

Print

2984 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version