100 Greatest Poems by A . E Housman - HTML preview
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The Hourglass
Consider this small dust here running in the glass, By atoms moved;
Could you believe that this the body was Of one that loved?
And in his mistress' flame, playing like a fly, Turned to cinders by her eye:
Yes; and in death, as life, unblessed,
To have it expressed,
Even ashes of lovers find no rest.