'T is strange that death should sing.

I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,

Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,

And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings

His soul and body to their lasting rest.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King John. Act v. Sc. 7.

A violet in the youth of primy nature,

Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting,

The perfume and suppliance of a minute.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 3.