Read more poems by Ben Jonson: Ben Jonson Poems at Poetry X.
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.
Added: 9 Mar 2003 | Last Read: 26 Sep 2026 3:02 PM | Viewed: 12071 times
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