And, sweeter far than all, the bridal rose
Flushes to fullness in a soft repose.
Let others gather honey in the world,
And hoard it in their cells until they die;
I am content in dreaminess to lie,
Sipping, in summer hours,
My wants from fading flowers,
An Epicurean till my wings are furled!
What happy hours! what happy, happy days
I spent when I was young, a careless boy;