Your Name: Your E-mail: Friends Name: Friends E-mail: a Poem: Consider this small dust, here in the glass, By atoms moved: Could you believe that this the body was Of one that loved; And in his mistress' flame playing like a fly, Was turned to cinders by her eye: Yes; and in death, as life unblessed, To have it expressed, Even ashes of lovers find no rest. /By: Ben Jonson (1572 - 1637)/ Message: Found on this website: