"If I cast my eyes before me, what an infinite space in which I do not exist; and if I look behind me, what a terrible procession of years in which I do not exist, and how little space I occupy in this vast abyss of time"

Like to the falling of a Starre
Or as the flights of Eagles are
Or like the fresh springs gawdy hew
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 pain to night

The Wind blowes out; the Bubble dies
The Spring entomb'd in Autumn lies
The Dew dries up; the Starre is shot
The Flight is past; and Man forgot

Earth covers earth
Time tryeth truth