THEY say that at the core of it This life is all regret; But we've scarce yet learned the lore of it, We're only youngsters yet. We only ask some more of it, some more of it, We only ask some more of it -- The less we're like to get! Though ill may be the close of it, It's fair enough at morn; And the manner to dispose of it Is just to pluck the rose of it When first the rose is born. Is first to pluck the rose of it, the rose of it, the rose of it, Is just to pluck the rose of it, The de'il may take the thorn! The opinions of the old of it Depict a doleful land; For the guide-books that are sold of it, The ill that we are told of it, Would make Columbus stand. But come let's take a hold of it, a hold of it, a hold of it, But come let's take a hold of it With Alexander's hand. When sages call the roll of it How sad their looks appear! But there's fire in every coal of it And hope is in the soul of it And never a word of fear. So love we then the whole of it, the whole of it, the whole of it, So love we then the whole of it For as long as we are here. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEEDLESS FEAR by EMILY DICKINSON SONG OF SUMMER by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR GRASS FINGERS by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE DEAD IN THE SIERRAS by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER THE LIGHT THAT LIES by THOMAS MOORE DRINKING SONG, FR. THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL by RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN ENVOY: 5. TO MY NAME-CHILD by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |