A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread, - and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness - Oh, Wilderness were Paradise now!
Some for the Glories of This World; and some Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come; Ah, take the Cash, and let the Promise go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin The Thread of present Life away to win - What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!
Look to the Rose that blows about us - 'Lo, Laughing,' she says, 'into the World I blow: At once the silken Tassel of my Purse Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw.'
