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About this Poem 

“Song” was published in The Harvard Advocate on June 3, 1907. 


If space and time, as sages say,
    Are things which cannot be,
The fly that lives a single day
    Has lived as long as we.
But let us live while yet we may,
    While love and life are free,
For time is time, and runs away,
    Though sages disagree.

The flowers I sent thee when the dew
    Was trembling on the vine,
Were withered ere the wild bee flew
    To suck the eglantine.
But let us haste to pluck anew
    Nor mourn to see them pine,
And though the flowers of love be few
    Yet let them be divine.

This poem is in the public domain. 

This poem is in the public domain. 

T. S. Eliot

T. S. Eliot

Born in Missouri on September 26, 1888, T. S. Eliot is the author of The Waste Land, which is now considered by many to be the most influential poetic work of the twentieth century.

by this poet

Miss Nancy Ellicott
Strode across the hills and broke them,	
Rode across the hills and broke them—	
The barren New England hills—	
Riding to hounds	        
Over the cow-pasture.	
Miss Nancy Ellicott smoked	
And danced all the modern dances;	
And her aunts were not quite sure how they felt about it,	
But they
I observe: "Our sentimental friend the moon!	
Or possibly (fantastic, I confess)	
It may be Prester John’s balloon	
Or an old battered lantern hung aloft	
To light poor travellers to their distress."
  She then: "How you digress!"	
And I then: "Some one frames upon the keys	
That exquisite nocturne, with which

              O quam te memorem virgo

Stand on the highest pavement of the stair—	
Lean on a garden urn—	
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair—	
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise—	
Fling them to the ground and turn	     
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:	
But weave, weave