"Ah, fill the cup; what boots it to repeat
How time is slipping underneath our feet;
Unborn to-morrow and dead yesterday,
Why fret about them if to-day be sweet? "
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"Ah, fill the cup; what boots it to repeat
How time is slipping underneath our feet;
Unborn to-morrow and dead yesterday,
Why fret about them if to-day be sweet? "