Robert Herrick

His Poetry His Pillar

Only a little more
I 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 here
Memorial
Of any men that were;
 
—How many lie forgot
In vaults beneath,
And piece-meal rot
Without a fame in death?
 
Behold this living stone
I rear for me,
Ne’er to be thrown
Down, envious Time, by thee.
 
Pillars let some set up
If so they please;
Here is my hope,
And my Pyramides.
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