Or standing long an oak three hundred years,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald and sear.
A lily of a day is fairer far in May;
Although it fall and die that night,
It was the plant and flower of light.
In small proportions we just beauties see,
And in short measure life may perfect be.”
3rd Pupil.—Holmes said:
“In fact there’s nothing that keeps its youth,
So far as I know, but a tree and truth.”