Classic Poem

When I do note the beauty of thine eyes,
And think that they have long been sightless dust;
When I observe the warrior's envied prize —
Helmet and corselet — thick with yellow rust;
When scutcheoned doors lie prone in castle halls,
And turrets totter, razed by ruthless Time;
When panelled brass from stately column falls,
Well-graved with praises writ in lofty rhyme —
Then I perceive how all things here decay;
That this wide world is but a shifting stage,
Where faith and love, fierce pride and passion, play,
And narrow lines divide the fool and sage;
Where fame's brief candle flickers to its death,
And beauty's reign is measured by a breath.