Ah, better to love in the lowliest cot

The life upon which youth fancies itself entering is very different from the life which age refuses to acknowledge it is on the eve of quitting.

Then drink, puppy, drink, and let ev’ry puppy drink, That is old enough to lap and to swallow; For he’ll grow into a hound, so we’ll pass the bottle round, And merrily we’ll whoop and we’ll holloa.

For everything created In the bounds of earth and sky Has such longing to be mated, It must couple or must die.

When you sleep in your cloak there's no lodging to pay.

Song like a rose should be; Each rhyme a petal sweet; For fragrance, melody, That when her lips repeat The words, her heart may know What secret makes them so:—

And also there’s a little star So white a virgin’s it must be:— Perhaps the lamp my love in heaven Hangs out to light the way for me.