Or like the fresh springs gaudy hue;
Or silver drops of morning dew;
Or like a wind that chafes the flood;
Or bubbles which on water stood;
Even such is man, whose borrow'd light
Is straight call'd in, and paid to night.
The wind blows out; the bubble dies;
10The Spring entomb'd in Autumn lies;
The dew dries up; the star is shot;
The flight is past; and man forgot.