Classic Poem

To-day I feast with you, dear friends,
With joy our spirits burn;
To-morrow's chance may find me there
Whence I shall not return.

Thus, long ago, I spake to those
Who were with merriment wild;
For gloomy thoughts of coming grief
Possessed me from a child.

My laughing friends around my locks
Enwreathed a fresh bright crown;
“For shame!” they cried; “youth 's not a time
To wear a moody frown.”

War breaking out, my friends to it
As to a banquet prest;
I with them; but me cruel fate
Soon parted from the rest.

In weary idleness their steps
I followed mentally;
And oft their relatives I cheered
With words of victory.

Time passed: the thoughts of days gone by
Sad tears of sorrow yield;
Then ceased the war. Where are my friends?
Dead on the battlefield.

Now I am sorrowful at feasts,
Where others' joy is great;
In wine-cups e'en the past recalled
Embitters all my state.