The Hourglass Poem by Ben Jonson
The Hourglass
Rating: ★3.0
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.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Topic(s) of this poem: ashes,running
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8/6/2026 11:21:02 PM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
