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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=506693" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Song #4.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=506693" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">They have been here and had this light<br>Who in their graves are lying,<br>And e'en the youngest life to-night<br>Is gradually dying.<br>Our birth's a kind of death we have<br>When we upon time waken,<br>A step still nearer to the grave<br>With every breath is taken.<br>We are doomed being born, as 'twere<br>Decay within us breeding,<br>Or e'en as time did groan and bear<br>But death's immortal seeding;<br>For we are made of stuff that goes<br>So easy to decaying,<br>'Tis at the best the spirit's clothes<br>In which it goes a-Maying.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Robert+Crawford">Robert Crawford</a></strong></div>

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