Classic Poem

VERSES ADDRESSED TO M. LAISNEY, PRINTER AT PERONNE.

Bonsoir.

Drink, my dear Laisney, drink; our youth inspires
One bumper more, our youth that would not stay:
How pale and distant now life's dawning fires;
How many a pleasure died with them away!
But must we then ungrudgingly repine?
No — for to Gaiety Hope fain would cleave:
My dear old friend, if day for us decline —
Gaily let's bid good-eve!

Closely my steps have followed on thine own,
Whilst o'er thy head have fifty winters past:
Those winters many a festival have known;
All was not hoar-frost, and the northern blast.
Could we have spent more fruitfully our youth?
Or, gifted thus, untasted pleasures leave?
If day, old friend, for us decline — forsooth,
Gaily let's bid good-eve!

Thou wert my master in the poet's art;
Yet never jealous, couldst my triumphs greet:
If Heaven to us saw fit but to impart
The gift of song — that gift is passing sweet.
Come, in our chorus let's renew the past;
Illusion's mirror shall its light receive:
Old friend, if day for us decline at last,
Gaily let's bid good-eve!

Now, let's repose — the Loves, we can't deny,
For whom so far we trudged in other days,
If they should meet us on the road, would cry,
" Go sleep; the sun hath shed his parting rays! "
But Friendship comes, though thick the shades extend,
And lights our lamps, the darkness to relieve:
Yes, if for us day must decline — old friend,
Gaily let's bid good-eve!