MAN'S life was once a span; now one of those Atoms of which old Sophies did compose The world; a thing so small, no emptiness Nature can find at all by his decease; Nor need she to attenuate the air, And spreading it, his vacancy repair; The swellings that in hearts and eyes arise, Repay with ample bulk death's robberies. Why should we then weep for a thing so slight, Converting life's short day to a long night? For sorrows make one month seem many years: Time's multiplying glass is made of tears. Our life is but a painted perspective; Grief the false light, that doth the distance give; Nor doth it with delight (as shadowing) Set off, but, as a staff fixt in a spring, Seem crookt and larger; then dry up thy tears, Since through a double mean nought right appears. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ARIZONA POEMS: 2. MEXICAN QUARTER by JOHN GOULD FLETCHER FOR G. by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON TO AGE by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR IDLENESS by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL A VOICE PROPHETIC by WALT WHITMAN RACHEL by WILLIAM H. ARMSTRONG III PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 35. AL-GHAFIR by EDWIN ARNOLD FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: A NIGHT-SCENE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |