The Hour Glass

…from the quills of the dead white poets

 Ben Jonson (1573 – 1637)

 Consider this small dust, here in the glass

By atoms mov’d:

Could you believe that this the body was

Of one that lov’d;

And in his mistress’ flame playing like a fly,

Was turned to cinders by her eye:

Yes; and in death, as life unblest,

To have’t exprest,

Even ashes of lovers find no rest.

About Avadoro Worden

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