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