Classic Poem

Vain is the fleeting wealth
Whereon the world stays,
Sith stalking time by privy stealth
Encroacheth on our days;

And eld, which creepeth fast
To taint us with her wound,
Will turn each bliss unto a blast,
Which lasteth but a stound.

Of youth the lusty flower,
Which whilom stood in price,
Shall vanish quite within an hour,
As fire consumes the ice.

Where is become that wight
For whose sake Troye town
Withstood the Greeks till ten years' fight
Had razed their walls adown?