"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 Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one."

"For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day, I watched the Potter thumping his wet Clay: And with its all obliterated Tongue It murmur'd—'Gently, Brother, gently, pray!'"

"Why, all the Saints and Sages who discussed Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn Are scattered, and their Mouths are stopped with Dust."

"And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, End in the Nothing all Things end in—Yes—Then fancy while thou art, thou art but what Thou shalt be—Nothing—Thou shalt not be less."