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by A. E. Housman
Think no more, lad; laugh, be jolly:
 Why should men make haste to die?
Empty heads and tongues a-talking
Make the rough road easy walking,
And the feather pate of folly
 Bears the falling sky.
Oh, 'tis jesting, dancing, drinking
 Spins the heavy world around.
If young hearts were not so clever,
Oh, they would be young for ever:
Think no more; 'tis only thinking
 Lays lads underground.

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