  It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing like 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 fall and die that night— It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be. —Ben Jonson. |
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