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Henry King - Sic Vita
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Like to the falling of a star, 
Or as the flights of eagles are, 
Or like the fresh spring`s 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 borrowed light 
Is straight called in, and paid to night. 
The wind blows out, the bubble dies; 
The spring entombed in autumn lies; 
The dew dries up, the star is shot; 
The flight is past, and man forgot.
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