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Show More Haflz Qhazelt. It Booms to me that ha who drinks and HltlRH, And IourIih nnd makes time pass on (,'olUcn wings, -i Does bettor than tho ono who curps and frowns. And makes life dark with talk of solemn tlilnRj. Ho dries tho blood of youth. My part It Is To shed vlnc-blood, nnd mako no promises; prom-ises; As for th future In n hundred years My clay will mako as honest bricks ns Ills! Thou art too sad, my friend, too gravo by half Teach thy lugubrious features how to laugh: Some day thou'lt disappear without a Bong. And "Dead" shall be thy only epitaph) My verses will bo .lung In every clime, My nnmo will live until tho end of time-Hut time-Hut peoplo would not know that thou nails been. If Haflz had not put three In this rhyme. Go, Sufi go, nnd leave mo to my pottle! I'll prny for theo to Him who filled this bottle. And mnybo wo shall meet again, soma you and I, nnd Aristotle! Cleveland Leader. |