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