From In Memory Of Major Robert Gregory by William Butler Yeats
Some burn damp faggots, others may consume
The entire combustible world in one small room
As though dried straw, and if we turn about
The bare chimney is gone black out
Because the work had finished in that flare.
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
As 'twere all life's epitome.
What made us dream that he could comb grey hair?
Probably most live as if we expect to "comb gray hair", but we know not what shall be tomorrow.