Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/From the French
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From the French.
Careless and thoughtless all my life,Stranger to every source of strife,And deeming each grave sage a fool,The law of Nature was my rule,By which I learnt to duly measureMy portion of desire and pleasure. 'Tis strange that here I lie, you see,For Death must have indulged a whim; At any time to have thought of me,Who never once did think of him.