Would seem to say this hour is man’s,
But Life hath swiftly running sands,
And may wither in a smile.
A fire is blazing upon the hearth,
And it crackles aloud as if in mirth;
By its flickering flames you may chance to see
There are six men sitting in groups of three;
They laugh and talk—they drink and drain
Their goblets, till to drink is pain,
And the eyes are brighter than the brain.