Life - written by George Herbert

I made a posy, while the day ran by:
Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie

  My life within this band.
But time did beckon to the flowers, and they
By noon most cunningly did steal away,
  And withered in my hand.
 

My hand was nest to them, and then my heart,
I took, without more thinking, in good part
  Time's gentle admonition:
Who did so sweetly death's sad taste convey,
Making my mind to smell my fatal day;
  Yet surging the suspicion.
 
Farewell dear flowers, sweetly your time ye spent,
Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament,
  And after death for cures.

I follow straight without complains or grief,
Since if my scent be good, I care not if
  It be as short as yours.