It Is Not Growing Like a Tree
It is not growing like a treeIn bulk doth make Man better be;Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:A lily of a dayIs fairer far in May,Although it fall and die that night—It was the plant and flower of light.In small proportions we just beauties see;And in short measures life may perfect be.
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