Let doctors prate of human pain
Alleviated by their skill,
When Death's dull sickness comes, in vain
Is every pill.
Let poets pipe of bloody war
And claim its carnal method right;
They're only piping cowards, for
Not one will fight.
And so it seems we mortals boast
Of knowledge where we know the least
And show our ignorance the most
Like any beast.
[Fooling]
e was a lad—a tender boy,
And she—she held him as her toy,
And when she wearied of his way
And would with other playthings play,
I heard him say beneath his breath:—
A fool am I; it is my death—
She jilted me—the little lass,—
I will not let such fooling pass
But shift at once some bitter dart
Back—back again into her heart,
But then thought he—All those who play
With fools are fools as well as they,
And so he made a living rule:—
It takes a fool to fool a fool.
