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ANACREONTICS.
VII.
But, alas! for our joys evanescent,
Our perishing home of a day!
Too soon flies the pleasantest present,
The fairest of flow'rets decay;
And fate, with sardonical banter,
Makes jest at the glass that is low—
We have finished our second decanter,
And drunk all the Rauzan Margaux.
65
