Where, where are now the great reports
Of those huge haugthy earth-born giants?
Where are the lofty tow’rs and forts
Of those proud kings bade Heav’n defiance?
When them I to my mind revoke,
Methinks I see a mighty smoke
Thick mounting from quick-burning matter
Which in an instant winds do scatter.
“Born I was to meet with age,
And to talk life’s pilgrimage,
Much, I know, of time is spent,
Tell I can’t what’s resident.
Howsoever, cares, adieu;
I’ll have nought to say to you.
But I’ll spend my coming hours
Drinking wine, and crown’d with flowers.”
Robert Herrick | “On Himself”
Leave a Reply