Advertisement

THE CRIME

"Small habits well pursued betimes May reach the dignity of crimes."

It's true we've got our work to do;

We must have you to fasten to

But don't let that unsettle you!

Never you mind!

Quake on!

Advertisement

The Child of the Age, disciple of the ancient Omar, sings a bacchanalian ditty, one of those flower-that-once has-blown-for-ever-dies songs.

What care I for earthquakes?

A fig for their sorrow!

They're nothing to heartaches!

Come! Drink to Tomorrow!

With women and song, like a Sheik in his tent.

I'll live like a Sultan until I'm all spent.

The ruminating Philosopher loses himself in a rapture upon the instability of things in general and the comforting permanence which underlies all flux and change--even the violent, upheavals of earthquakes:

The old Earth trembles; hearts are filled with awe

As long ago they were when Nature's Law

Recommended Articles

Advertisement