A lot of the Latin poems on this site are about the transitoriness of life. This more modern take on that theme is by Thomas Hardy. In his poems and (especially) his novels, failure, suffering and heartbreak are rarely far away, but he is a highly original, penetrating writer, with an incredible flair for describing nature.
The thrushes sing as the sun is going,
And the finches whistle in ones and pairs,
And as it gets dark loud nightingales in bushes
Pipe, as they can when April wears,
As if all Time were theirs.
These are brand new birds of twelve months’ growing,
Which a year ago, or less than twain,
No finches were, nor nightingales, nor thrushes,
But only particles of grain,
And earth, and air, and rain.