I'll Write, Because I'll Give

Drink Wine, And Live Here Blitheful While Ye May; The Morrow's Life Too Late Is; Live To-day.

The Person Lives Twice Who Lives The First Life Well

I Sing Of Brooks, Of Blossoms, Birds, And Bowers: Of April, May, Or June, And July Flowers. I Sing Of Maypoles, Hock-carts, Wassails, Wakes, Of Bridegrooms, Brides, And Of The Bridal Cakes.

Well I Sup And Well I Dine, When I Drink My Frolic Wine.

Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.