A New(er) Acquaintance of Thy Mind: Day 4

And of this book this learning mayst thou taste:

That, compassed in one moment's heaving life,

Nor love nor honour so the living grac'd

As when the poet sang immortal strife.

To deathless glory swift the legions ride;

Could action spell the measure of their time,

Then endless would their memories abide,

And votive flame displace an idle rhyme.

Yet, what from hour to hour we cannot tell,

Nor own the past can of its past reveal,

That knowledge from those words we must impel:

The smallest part of what our days conceal.

Go, number this, and count, that none mayst know

The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show.