Classic Poem

Triumphant arches, statues crown'd with bayes,
Proud obeliskes, tombes of the vastest frame,
Colosses, brazen Atlases of fame,
Phanes vainelie builded to vaine idoles' praise;
States, which vnsatiate mindes in blood doe raise,
From the crosse-starres vnto the articke teame,
Alas! and what wee write to keepe our name,
Like spiders' caules, are made the sport of dayes:
All onely constant is in constant change,
What done is, is vndone, and, when vndone,
Into some other figure doeth it range;
Thus moues the restlesse world beneath the moone:
Wherefore, my minde, aboue time, motion, place,
Thee raise, and steppes not reach'd by nature trace.