Where is the heart that would not give

  Years of drowsy days and nights,

One little hour, like this, to live—

  Full, to the brim, of life's delights?

    Look, look around,

    This fairy ground,

  With love-lights glittering o'er;

    While cups that shine

    With freight divine

  Go coasting round its shore.

Hope is the dupe of future hours,

  Memory lives in those gone by;

Neither can see the moment's flowers

  Springing up fresh beneath the eye,

    Wouldst thou, or thou,

    Forego what's now,

  For all that Hope may say?

    No—Joy's reply,

    From every eye,

  Is, "Live we while we may,"