The Hourglass
Ben Jonson
Do but consider this small dust Here running in the glass, By atoms moved; Could you believe that this The body was Of one that loved? And in his mistress’ flame, playing like a fly, Turned to cinders by her eye? Yes; and in death, as life, unblessed, To have’t expressed, Even ashes of lovers find no rest.
Next 10 Poems
- Ben Jonson : The Metamorphosed Gypsies ( Excerpt )
- Ben Jonson : The Noble Balm
- Ben Jonson : The Noble Nature
- Ben Jonson : The Shadow
- Ben Jonson : The Triumph
- Ben Jonson : To Heaven
- Ben Jonson : To John Donne
- Ben Jonson : To Lucy, Countess Of Bedford, With John Donne's Satires
- Ben Jonson : To Penhurst
- Ben Jonson : To The Memory Of My Beloved, The Author, Mr William Shakespeare, And What He Hath Left Us
Previous 10 Poems
- Ben Jonson : That Women Are But Men's Shadows
- Ben Jonson : Song To Diana
- Ben Jonson : Song To Celia - Ii
- Ben Jonson : Song To Celia - I
- Ben Jonson : Song From The Silent Woman
- Ben Jonson : So Breaks The Sun
- Ben Jonson : Slow, Slow, Fresh Fount
- Ben Jonson : Simplex Munditiis
- Ben Jonson : Queen And Huntress
- Ben Jonson : Piccolo Valzer Viennese
