Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o’ the great,

Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke

Care no more to clothe and eat,

To thee the reed is as the oak:

The sceptre, learning, physic, must

All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash.

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone.

Fear not slander, censure rash.

Thou hast finish’d joy and moan.

All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorcizer harm thee!

Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

Nothing ill come near thee!

Quiet consummation have,

And renownèd be thy grave!

from Cymbeline (IV. ii),
William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

‘By ways remote and distant waters sped’

By ways remote and distant waters sped,

Brother, to thy sad grave-side am I come,

That I may give the last gifts to the dead,

And vainly parley with thine ashes dumb:

Since she who now bestows and now denies

Hath ta’en thee, hapless brother, from mine eyes.

But lo! these gifts, the heirlooms of past years,

Are made sad things to grace thy coffin shell,

Take them, all drenched with a brother’s tears,

And, brother, for all time, hail and farewell!

Catullus (?84–?54 BC), translated from the Latin
by Aubrey Beardsley

‘Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore’

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,

So do our minutes hasten to their end,

Each changing place with that which goes before,

In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

Nativity, once in the main of light,

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,

Crooked eclipses ’gainst his glory fight,

And Time, that gave, doth now his gift confound.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,

And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow;

Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,

And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.

And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,

Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

Elegy

On the day of your death there were leaves drifting

Down to English lawns as season

Drifted into season, winter coming; and rooks were pouring

Across the sky, thick as the falling leaves and giving

Their hoarse Kyrie Eleison,

The best of the day now fading, you yourself fading

For no good reason, it seemed, for no good reason.

And in every part of the garden dark doors closing.

David Harsent (1942–)

I Wish You Enough

A father and daughter were saying goodbye at an airport. Her plane had been called. I was sitting near by and heard him say, ‘I wish you enough.’ She said, ‘Daddy, your love and care in my life have been more than enough.’ They kissed goodbye and she added: ‘I wish you enough too.’ Then she left to board her plane.