Tree

It is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make man better be;
or standing long an oak, three hundred years, to fall a log at last, dry, bald and sere,
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May
Although it fall and die that night
It was the plant and flower of light..
In small proportions we just beauties see;
And in short measures, life may perfect be.

Ben Jonson