A simple child

That lightly draws its breath,

And feels its life in every limb,

What should it know of death?

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): We are Seven.

O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein,

But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns,

And heightens ease with grace.

James Thomson (1700-1748): The Castle of Indolence. Canto i. Stanza 26.

Years steal

Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb,

And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 8.