The Noble Nature

by Ben Jonson

   It is not growing like a tree
   In bulk, doth make Man better be;
Or standing long 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.