Since Life is but a dream,
Why toil to no avail?
Therefore it is that drunk all day
Listless beneath my porch I lay.
Waking, across the lawn I peer.
A bird from out the blossoms cried.
Tell me what season of the year,
What day may this day be?
'Twas a chance oriole
That babbled on the springtime gale.
At thought of which I all but sighed:
But then again addressed me to my bowl;
And sang with mighty din
To usher the moon in.
And now my song is done — Ay me,
I have forgot the theme.