Do but 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’t expressed,
Even ashes of lovers find no rest.
(Ben Jonson)
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Based on Topics: Life Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Body PoemsBased on Keywords: atoms, unblessed, cinders, have