It is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make man better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May,
Although it falls and die that night—
It was the plant and flower of Light.
Ben Jonson, Pindaric Ode on the Death of Sir H. Morison.
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