A little rule, a little sway,A sunbeam in a winter’s day,Is all the proud and mighty haveBetween the cradle and the grave.
Is there beyond the silent nightAn endless day?Is death a door that leads to light?We cannot say.
It is not growing like a treeIn bulk, doth make man better be;Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:A lily of a dayIs fairer far in May,Although it falls and die that night—It was the plant and flower of Light.Ben Jonson
Create and save customized word lists. Sign up today and start improving your vocabulary!