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Show B THE PESSIMIST. There is no rose on the broad bleak earth I Worth the labor put forth to raise it; IP TJo scarlet mouth framed in dimpling mirth Worth the breath that it takes to praise it. i There is no song like the one that's heard In the time of a life's beginning; I No woman's love worth the empty word i That we waste in its useless winning. There is no day with its sordid strife Worth the serious thought we give it, No passing hour in a careless life Worth the trouble it takes to live it. So pluck the rose while you chance to live, I Hold your pleasures as you may find them, ' Forget, in joys that those red lips give, The grin of the skull behind them. Mabel Porter Pitts, in Town Talk. |
