Art Indeed Is Long, But Life Is

How Fit He Is To Sway That Can So Well Obey.

And Yonder All Before Us Lie Deserts Of Vast Eternity.

Casting The Body's Vest Aside, My Soul Into The Boughs Does Glide.

Ye Country Comets, That Portend No War, Nor Prince's Funeral, Shining Unto No Higher End Than To Presage The Grasses Fall. . . .

Gather The Flowers, But Spare The Buds.