William Drummond


* * *


I know that all beneath the moon decays,
And what by mortals in this world is brought,
In Timeís great periods shall return to nought;
That fairest states have fatal nights and days;
I know how all the Museís heavenly lays,
With toil of spright which are so dearly bought,
As idle sounds of few or none are sought,
And that nought lighter is than airy praise.
I know frail beauty like the purple flower,
To which one morn oft birth and death affords;
That love a jarring is of mindsí accords,
Where sense and will invassal reasonís power:
Know what I list, this all can not me move,
But that, O me! I both must write and love. 






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