The Noble Nature
It is not growing like a tree
In bulk doth make Man better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May,
Although it fall and die that night,—
It was the plant and flower of Light:
In small proportions we just beauties see,
And in short measures life may perfect be.
Ben Jonson.