When we are young and wake from sleep,
   What pillow-fights we share with Life!
We laugh and punch, and never dream
   How Death can end that joyful strife.

We'll not let Time destroy that dream,
   But in old age our spirit brave
Shall, like a snowflake in its fall,
   Dance while it hovers o'er the grave.

Contented men are still my theme,
   Who - though too poor for ivory keys -
Still whistle with their naked lips
   Their happy tunes of careless ease.