The Thoughtful Soul To Solitude Retires.

Think, In This Batter'd Caravanserai Whose Portals Are Alternate Night And Day, How Sultan After Sultan With His Pomp Abode His Destin'd Hour And Went His Way.

By Fate Full Many A Heart Has Been Undone, And Many A Sprightly Rose Made Woe-begone; Plume Thee Not On Thy Lusty Youth And Strength: Full Many A Bud Is Blasted Ere Its Bloom.

Men Talk Of Heaven, - There Is No Heaven But Here; Men Talk Of Hell, - There Is No Hell But Here; Men Of Hereafters Talk And Future Lives, - O Love, There Is No Other Life - But Here.

The Revelations Of Devout And Learn'd Who Rose Before Us, And As Prophets Burn'd, Are All But Stories, Which, Awoke From Sleep They Told Their Comrades, And To Sleep Return'd.

Dead Yesterdays And Unborn Tomorrows, Why Fret About It, If Today Be Sweet.