We fling up flowers and laugh, we laugh across the wine;
  With wine we dull our souls and careful strains of art;
Our cups are polished skulls round which the roses twine:
  None dares to look at Death who leers and lurks apart.

Move on, white company, whom that has not sufficed!
  Our viols cease, our wine is death, our roses fail:
Pray for our heedlessness, O dwellers with the Christ!
  Though the world fall apart, surely ye shall prevail.