Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,Old Time is still a-flying;And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying. - Robert Herrick
Tumble me down, and I will sitUpon my ruines (smiling yet:)Teare me to tatters; yet I'le bePatient in my necessitie.Laugh at my scraps of cloathes, and shunMe, as a fear'd infection:Yet scarre-crow-like I'le walk as one,Neglecting thy derision. - Robert Herrick
Tears are the noble language of eyes, and when true love of words is destitute. The eye by tears speak, while the tongue is mute. - Robert Herrick