"The sun will set at day's decline";
Qu'importe?
Quaff off meanwhile life's sparkling wine!
Of what avail are mournful fears,
Foreboding sighs and idle tears,
They hinder not the hurrying years;
Buvons!

"This fleeting hour will soon be past";
Qu'importe?
Enrich its moments while they last!
To-day is ours; be ours its joy!
Let not to-morrow's cares annoy!
Enough the present to employ;
Vivons!

"These pleasures will not come again";
Qu'importe?
Enjoy their keenest transport then!
If but of these we are secure,
Be of their sweetness doubly sure,
That long their memory may endure!
Rions!

"With time love's ardor always cools";
Qu'importe?
Leave that lugubrious chant to fools!
Must doubt destroy our present bliss?
Shall we through fear love's rapture miss,
Or lose the honey of its kiss?
Aimons!

"The sun will set at day's decline";
Qu'importe?
Will not the eternal stars still shine?
So even in life's darkest night
A thousand quenchless suns are bright,—
Blest souvenirs of past delight;
Allons!