I'm sneaking this in because I can. And also because yesterday evening on Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac, on WNYC, he read this poem aloud in his deep and even reading voice, and it stuck out enough that I chanted the last line to myself until I could Google it in quotes. Here's hoping most of our readers are pretty young. I'm assuming you are because this is a blog. Happy July 1. Don't worry, this is not a recurring feature.
Youth's the season made for joys,That's John Gay in his Beggar's Opera, from 1728--four years before he died at the ripe old age of 47. Two hundred and eighty years ago. He also had quite an epitaph: "Life is a jest, and all things show it. I thought so once, and now I know it."
Love is then our duty;
She alone who that employs,
Well deserves her beauty.
Let's be gay,
While we may,
Beauty's a flower despis'd in decay.
Let us drink and sport to-day,
Ours is not tomorrow.
Love with youth flies swift away,
Age is nought but sorrow.
Dance and sing,
Time's on the wing,
Life never knows the return of spring.
A million points to anyone who knows what that photo is. It might be impossible.