Like to the falling of a star,
Or as the flights of eagles are;
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue,
Or silver drops of morning dew;
Or like a wind that chafes the flood,
Or bubbles which on water stood:
Even such is man, whose borrowed light
Is straight call'd in, and paid to night.
  The wind blows out, the bubble dies;
  The spring entombed in autumn lies.
  The dew dries up, the star is shot;
  The flight is past and man forgot.