From "A West Shire Lad".


 Think no more, lad; laugh with mirth:
    Why should men make haste to die?
 Heads with nought and tongues that talk
 Make the rough road a quick walk,
 And the plumed pate of wit's dearth
    Bears the fall o' the sky.

 Oh, 'tis jests, and dance, and drinks
    That spin the dense world round.
 If young hearts were not so smart,
 Oh, they'd be young till time parts:
 Think no more; 'tis just those thinks
    That lays lads in the ground.

                                -- A.E. House Man