O POSTUMUS, alas! I hear the bells go tinkle-tinkle! Zip! goes another flitting year! here comes another wrinkle! And though I hate to hang the crape—no skill and no endurance Can keep your folks from putting in a claim for your insurance. If daily you endow a school and forty-two Foundations Would that put off a single day your last disintegrations? No! What though you be prince or prune, a slacker or a hero, The sum of all your wealth and woes is ultimately zero. Some day you'll bid your wife good-bye, and—this no prognosis— That afternoon they'll say it was arterio-sclerosis; And in a year, or maybe less, a man of greater merit Shall spill upon your marble floors the wine he will inherit. |