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Page 348 - Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End! Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, And those that after a TO-MORROW stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries 'Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!
Page 347 - Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears TO-DAY of past Regrets and Future Fears : To-morrow! — Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.
Page 354 - And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help — for It As impotently moves as you or I.
Page 347 - For some we loved, the loveliest and the best That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest, Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, And one by one crept silently to rest.
Page 346 - Some for the Glories of This World; and some Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come; Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
Page 352 - IS-NOT' though. with Rule and Line And 'UP-AND-DOWN' by logic I define, Of all that one should care to fathom, I Was never deep in anything but - Wine.
Page 353 - I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return'd to me, And answered, "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell...
Page 353 - Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through, Not one returns to tell us of the Road, ' "* Which to discover we must travel too.