 | Dreams of Life : |  |
19
I MAKE MY BED OF ROSES.
I make my bed of roses sweet!I scorn the frowns of envious Fate!
I will my careless song repeat
While 'round may surge contending hate!
For life is what we make it still,
And I am master of my will.
Then let me quaff life's nectar wine
And live, a lord, the passing hour;
The world, and all therein, is mine,
Of fame or wealth or transient power;
For he, indeed, is all supreme
Whose dream of life is all a dream.
| Dreams of Life : | |