With childhood, manhood, and decrepit age.
And what’s a life? the flourishing array
Of the proud summer-meadow, which to-day
Wears her green plush, and is to-morrow hay.
Read on this dial, how the shades devour
My short-liv’d winter’s day; hour eats up hour;
Alas! the total’s but from eight to four.
Behold these lilies, which thy hands have made
Fair copies of my life, and open laid
To view, how soon they droop, how soon they fade!