MArke that swift Arrow how it cuts the ayre, How it out-runnes thy hunting eye! Vse all perswasions now, and try If thou canst call it backe, or stay it there. That way it went, but thou shalt find No tract of 't left behind. Foole 'tis thy life, and the fond Archer, thou, Of all the time thou'st shot away Ile bid thee fetch but yesterday, And it shall be too hard a taske to doe. Besides repentance, what canst find That it hath left behind? Our life is carried with too strong a tyde, A doubtfull cloud our substance beares, And is the horse of all our yeeres. Each day doth on a winged whirle-wind ride. Wee and our Glasse run out, and must Both render up our dust. But his past life who without griefe can see, Who never thinkes his end too neere, But sayes to Fame thou art mine Heire. That man extends life's naturall brevitie, This is, this is the onely way T' out-live Nestor in a day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A NEWPORT ROMANCE by FRANCIS BRET HARTE A BOY'S MOTHER by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY A VOICE PROPHETIC by WALT WHITMAN LULLABY IN BETHLEHEM by HENRY HOWARTH BASHFORD THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 4 by THOMAS CAMPION TO MRS. LEIGH UPON HER WEDDING DAY by GEORGE CANNING NEW DREAMS FOR OLD by THOMAS CURTIS CLARK |