POEMS.
21
LINES FOR THE SKULL AT THE FEAST.
Drink and forget to reason:
Man's life is but a season,
And pleasure's lips are breathless, ere youth is past its prime.
The rose-red love shall linger
Till care has touched its finger,
But only death is deathless, along the road of time.
Man's life is but a season,
And pleasure's lips are breathless, ere youth is past its prime.
The rose-red love shall linger
Till care has touched its finger,
But only death is deathless, along the road of time.
C. D.
