 | Heliconundrums |  |
65
QUATRAINS
The fly that thought he turn'd the coach-wheel round
Lies crush'd between the iron and the ground:
As silently the wheel revolves again,
Must some memorial of the Fly be found?
Lies crush'd between the iron and the ground:
As silently the wheel revolves again,
Must some memorial of the Fly be found?
What are we? Grains of the wide Desert's sand;
Or as mere rain-drops shaken from Time's hand
Into the Ocean. Shall the swallow'd drop
Pretend the Ocean-Heart to understand!
Or as mere rain-drops shaken from Time's hand
Into the Ocean. Shall the swallow'd drop
Pretend the Ocean-Heart to understand!
We live, and work, and through our little day
Our parts conspicuous or unnoticed play:
Some brief Hours may remember us, and then
Oblivion passeth o'er us on its way.
Our parts conspicuous or unnoticed play:
Some brief Hours may remember us, and then
Oblivion passeth o'er us on its way.
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