His Poetry His Pillar

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.