When The Journey's Over/there'll Be Time Enough

I Am Not A Pessimist But A Pejorist (as George Eliot Said She Was Not An Optimist But A Meliorist); And That Philosophy Is Founded On My Observation Of The World, Not On Anything So Trivial And Irrelevant As Personal History.

There, By The Starlit Fences The Wanderer Halts And Hears My Soul That Lingers Sighing About The Glimmering Weirs.

To Justify God's Ways To Man.

Here Dead Lie We Because We Did Not Choose To Live And Shame The Land From Which We Sprung. Life, To Be Sure, Is Nothing Much To Lose; But Young Men Think It Is, And We Were Young.

Oh, 'tis Jesting, Dancing, Drinking Spins The Heavy World Around.