The Happiest Life

 

Take from the present hour its sweets;

For, as thou nearest Death's vast sea,

To empty Life's river there-

Thou wilt see flowerless banks of sand,

And naked rocks on that drear coast.

 

We rush through life as though it were

A race to grab new-opened land;

We live as though Life's pleasures were

Piled at its end, and when' tis reached,

We moan them passed in years long gone.

 

We either do outrace old time

Unto an end where no joys are,

Or lie us down in present ease,

In gluttony, or drunken sloth,

And make Time bear us sleeping on.

 

Man makes his life a burning fret,

Yet beasts do know a shady spot,

And know what herbs are good; proud man

Knows not how much, or what to eat,

And drinks are fire-juice in summer's prime.

 

We must clear out our vain desires,

Which covert more than gold can buy;

We must live more in Nature's way;

For what we want is th' drunkard's ease

Sans drugs to give us after pain.

 

We all are one at last; when Death

Hath glazed the eye of cruel Czar,

Which made soon so many mortals quail-

Bury it soon from flies. Ye gods,

Flies on that eye which cowed down men!