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 unblest, To have't expressed, Even ashes of lovers find no rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE MEMORY OF INEZ MILHOLLAND by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BROTHER GENE by EVA K. ANGLESBURG KNOW THYSELF by WILLIAM ARBUTHNOT TO MR. BARBAULD, NOVEMBER 14, 1778 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: DEDICATION TO HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES by WILLIAM BASSE BRIDAL SERENADE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |