Today will die tomorrow. - Algernon Charles Swinburne

For winter’s rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows, and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

Ah that such sweet things should be fleet,
Such fleet things sweet!

At the door of life, by the gate of breath,
There are worse things waiting for men than death.