"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!"

"Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before I swore—but was I sober when I swore?"

"Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide, And wash the Body whence the Life has died, And in a winding-sheet of Vine-leaf wrapt, So bury me by some sweet Garden-side."

"Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane, The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again: How oft hereafter rising shall she look Through this same Garden after me—in vain!"

"We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held In Midnight by the Master of the Show;"