The Wine-cup Is The Little Silver Well,

Dead Yesterdays And Unborn Tomorrows, Why Fret About It, If Today Be Sweet.

Dust Into Dust, And Under Dust To Lie, Sans Wine, Sans Song, Sans Singer, And-sans End!

A Loaf Of Bread, A Jug Of Wine, And Thou.

The Value Of Three Things Is Justly Appreciated By All Classes Of Men: Youth, By The Old; Health, By The Diseased; And Wealth, By The Needy.

Think, In This Batter'd Caravanserai Whose Portals Are Alternate Night And Day, How Sultan After Sultan With His Pomp Abode His Destin'd Hour And Went His Way.