It sweeps this pretty place. A day, today,
to last, must not. Syllables record time.
Our yesterdays fall when the light's a mute.
The way's dusty but death's brief, its candle out.
More fun with the Bard's words, this time it's the Scottish Play:
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
[MacBeth: V.v.20-25]
1 comment:
Out damned spot,out, I say
out, out, brief candle
Yesterday may have lighted fools
but tomorrow and tomorrow may play a different tune where fool be lest cock'd sure of a damsel's
merriment and dusty ways fall wan to pale death's brief
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