Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, And dwell with the Divine, shall it abide In Sin and Error while the Flesh endures, And still rebel, howe'er the Spirit chide?
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"Ah, fill the Cup:—what boots it to repeat How Time is slipping underneath our Feet: Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday, Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!"
"The world is a tavern, and we are its guests; let us drink and be merry, for soon we must depart."
"Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before I swore – but was I sober when I swore? And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand My impulsive spirit to the wind I threw."
"Some for the Glories of This World; and some Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come; Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest; Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!"
"A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread – and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness – Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!"
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