Only a little moreI have to write:
Then I'll give o'er,
And bid the world good-night.'Tis but a flying minute,
That I must stay,
Or linger in it:
And then I must away.
O Time, that cut'st down all,
And scarce leav'st
Of any men that were;—How many lie
In vaults beneath,
And piece-meal
Without a fame in death?
Behold this living stoneI rear for me,
Ne'er to be
Down, envious Time, by thee.
Pillars let some set
If so they please;
Here is my hope,
And my Pyramides.
