I would to heaven that I were so much clay,
As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling-
Because at least the past were passed away--
And for the future--(but I write this reeling,
Having got drunk exceedingly today,
So that I seem to stand upon the ceiling)
I say--the future is a serious matter--
And so--for God's sake--hock and soda-water!
Byron, from Don Juan
TAGS: Poetry
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