Poems by William Ernest Henley |
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XLIV
[He made this gracious Earth a hell]
He made this gracious Earth a hell
With Love and Drink. I cannot tell
Of which he died. But Death was well.
With Love and Drink. I cannot tell
Of which he died. But Death was well.
Will I die of drink?
Why not?
Won't I pause and think?
—What?
Why in seeming wise
Waste your breath?
Everybody dies—
And of death!
Why not?
Won't I pause and think?
—What?
Why in seeming wise
Waste your breath?
Everybody dies—
And of death!
184
Youth—if you find it's youth
Too late?
Truth—and the back of truth?
Straight,
Be it love or liquor,
What 's the odds,
So it slide you quicker
To the gods?
Too late?
Truth—and the back of truth?
Straight,
Be it love or liquor,
What 's the odds,
So it slide you quicker
To the gods?
| Poems | |