 | Here be blue and white violets from the garden wherein grew meadowsweet |  |
KISMET.
The Moslem squatting on his mat,
The Persian praying on his rug,
Has this upon his tongue full pat—
Life is a grave already dug.
The Persian praying on his rug,
Has this upon his tongue full pat—
Life is a grave already dug.
And what if on the peach we find
The silver trail of midnight slug?
Death is the fruit, the world the rind—
Life is a grave already dug.
The silver trail of midnight slug?
Death is the fruit, the world the rind—
Life is a grave already dug.
Put by the idol at your side,
The pearl you prize, the gold you hug;
Remember most the churchyard ride—
Life is a grave already dug.
The pearl you prize, the gold you hug;
Remember most the churchyard ride—
Life is a grave already dug.
So nipping winds and changing friends
Are worth at most a shoulder-shrug;
And peace begins when breathing ends—
Life is a grave already dug.
Are worth at most a shoulder-shrug;
And peace begins when breathing ends—
Life is a grave already dug.
| Here be blue and white violets from the garden wherein grew meadowsweet | |