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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: 6 Sep 2026 9:05 AM | Viewed: 12059 times

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