Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

quickly life is done death comes to all what crown was won will then be set aside the page is turned the plaques are hung the laurel wreath laid upon the grave the glory of life is brief a man need have his say not least of all the poet whose meager dusty verse will soon be forgotten or discovered hence in an attic storehouse where reading these ‘tis known what I know that he was just a man but if you wish for more delusions of immortality then seek the mountain at midnight and gaze at Ozymandias in stars know each one is leased not one doth own itself and all the debt is called the stars to dust again and crowns and plaques and intimations of poetry