  Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me; For while thou view'st me with thy fading light Part of my life doth still depart with thee, And I still onward haste to my last night: Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly— So every day we live a day we die. But O ye nights, ordain'd for barren rest, How are my days deprived of life in you When heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest, By feignÉd death life sweetly to renew! Part of my life, in that, you life deny: So every day we live, a day we die. T. Campion |
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