[THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIVING]
We bivouac here and barely get acquainted
Until the furlough ends; then we are sainted,
Whether our acts deserve rebuke or praise.
When we are dead the recollection stays
Of virtues only: vices are excused,
But to the living pardon is refused.
And yet, alive, I'd rather be unsung,
Than any Saint the catacombs among.