Decay

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,Think ye he meant them for a slave?

— Decay

A gilded halo hovering round decay.

— Decay

Leaves grow green to fall,All but for passing made.

— Decay

The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;His time is spent.

— Decay

As is the bud bit with an envious worm,Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.

— Decay

In the sweetest budThe eating canker dwells.

— Decay

Fires that shook me once, but now to silent ashes fall'n away.Cold upon the dead volcano sleeps the gleam of dying day.

— Decay

He that loves a rosy cheek,So his flames must waste away.

— Decay

A worm is in the bud of youth,And at the root of age.

— Decay

An age that melts with unperceiv'd decay,And glides in modest innocence away.

— Decay

There seems to be a constant decay of all our ideas; even of those which are struck deepest, and in minds the most retentive, so that if they be not sometimes renewed by repeated exercises of the senses, or reflection on those kinds of objects which at first occasioned them, the print wears out, and at last there remains nothing to be seen.

— Decay

All that's bright must fade,— But to be lost when sweetest.

— Decay

I shall be like that tree,—I shall die at the top.

— Decay