When I do note the beauty of thine eyes,
And think that they have long been sightless dust;
When I observe the warrior's envied prize—
Helmet and corselet—thick with yellow rust;
When scutcheoned doors lie prone in castle halls,
And turrets totter, razed by ruthless Time;
When panelled bra** from stately column falls,
Well-graved with praises writ in lofty rhyme—
Then I perceive how all things here decay;
That this wide world is but a shifting stage,
Where faith and love, fierce pride and pa**ion, play,
And narrow lines divide the fool and sage;
Where fame's brief candle flickers to its d**h
And beauty's reign is measured by a breath.