Some little creatures have so short a life
   That they are orphans born - but why should we
Be prouder of a life that gives more time
   To think of death through all eternity?

Time bears us off, as lightly as the wind
   Lifts up the smoke and carries it away;
And all we know is that a longer life
   Gives but more time to think of our decay.

We live till Beauty fails, and Passion dies,
   And Sleep's our one desire in every breath,
And in that strong desire our old love, Life,
   Gives place to that new love whose name is Death.