If Time and Space, as sages say,
        Are things which cannot be,
        The sun which does not feel decay
        No greater is then we.
        So why, Love, should we ever pray
        to live a century?
        The butterfly that lives a day
        Has lived eternity.

                The flowers I gave thee when the dew
                Was trembling on the vine,
                Were withered ere the wild bee flew
                To suck the eglentine.
                So let us haste to pluck anew
                Nor mourn to see them pine,
                And though our days of love be few
                Yet let them be divine.

        If Space and Time, as sages say,
        Are things which cannot be,
        The fly that lives a single day
        Has lived as long as we.
        But let us live while yet we may,
        While love and life are free,
        For time is time, and runs away,
        Though sages disagree.


			T. S. Eliot