Maxioms by Michael Eyquen De Montaigne
To-night, at least, to-night be gay,
Whate'er to-morrow brings.
To-night, at least, to-night be gay,
Whate'er to-morrow brings.
Bliss itself is not worth having,
If we're by compulsion blest.
Bliss itself is not worth having,
If we're by compulsion blest.
To each foot its own shoe.
[Fr., A chaque pied son soulier.]
To each foot its own shoe.
[Fr., A chaque pied son soulier.]
While tears that from repentance flow,
In bright exhalement reach the skies.
While tears that from repentance flow,
In bright exhalement reach the skies.
Oh, sweet youth, how soon it fades!
Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting!
Oh, sweet youth, how soon it fades!
Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting!
