His Poetry His Pillar

Only a little moreI have to write,Then I'll give o'er,And bid the world good-night.

Tis but a flying minuteThat I must stay,Or linger in it;And then I must away.

O time that cut'st down allAnd scarce leav'st hereMemorialOf any men that were.

How many lie forgotIn vaults beneath?And piecemeal rotWithout a fame in death?

Behold this living stoneI rear for me,Ne'er to be thrownDown, envious Time, by thee.

Pillars let some set upIf so they please:Here is my hopeAnd my Pyramides.