The Winter Of Our Discontent
Come, lads and ladies—
I pray we shall drink down even mischief!
That all mischief is anxiety in the brain!
Now is the time to help the feeble up,
And to stake a footing with them after.
Then, as Virtue strikes again:
The summer of our content lies beyond,
And so, we may remember this winter,
As the petals on a briar rose flail and fall—
Because our hope is an everlasting promise,—
Our hope that we could do wrong to none,
Singing odes of knowledge, that wing
Wherefore we might perish without!
Sweet, sweet pardons are ever so cheap,
But in our palisades, the firm belief may widen,
To all those loves,—much like quests or vagaries,
For an obsession is a great council to the passing tides;
Parting is a leisure pursuit as well as a whim or mere fancy;
My weakness is a thing with enclosures, as it remains
Forever muted to my tongue, but now, how say you
My dear gentlemen, such cowards die all at times before death!
And as your hostess, I must be monstrous in your eyes!
Valiance is cruel,—only to be kinder than the destiny at hand!
My destiny wherewith I find no peace until Ignorance has fled.
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