Dreams and Dust by Don Marquis
page 50 of 125 (40%)
page 50 of 125 (40%)
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We mock the roses flung away,
We mock the garnered rue; The fates that gibe have lessoned us; There sups to-night on earth No madder crew of wastrels than This fellowship of mirth. . . . (Of mirth . . . drink, fools!--nor let it flag Lest from the outer mist Creep in that other company Unbidden to the tryst. We're grown so fond of paradox Perverseness holds us thrall, So what each jester loves the best He mocks the most of all; But as the jest and laugh go round, Each in his neighbor's eyes Reads, while he flouts his heart's desire, The knowledge that he lies. Not one of us but had some pearls And flung them to the swine, Not one of us but had some gift-- Some spark of fire divine-- Each might have been God's minister In the temple of some art-- Each feels his gift perverted move Wormlike through his dry heart. |
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