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 it expressed,
Even ashes of lovers find no rest.
| Best Poems | Short Poems
Email Poem |
Top Ben Jonson Poems
Analysis and Comments on The Hourglass
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem The Hourglass here.
Commenting has been disabled for now.