Start not—nor deem my spirit fled: <br />In me behold the only skull <br />From which, unlike a living head, <br />Whatever flows is never dull. <br /> <br />I lived, I loved, I quaffed like thee; <br />I died: let earth my bones resign: <br />Fill up—thou canst not injure me; <br />The worm hath fouler lips than thine. <br /> <br />Better to hold the sparkling grape <br />Than nurse the earthworm's slimy brood, <br />And circle in the goblet's shape <br />The drink of gods than reptile's food. <br /> <br />Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone, <br />In aid of others' let me shine; <br />And when, alas! our brains are gone, <br />What nobler substitute than wine? <br /> <br />Quaff while thou canst; another race, <br />When thou and thine like me are sped, <br />May rescue thee from earth's embrace, <br />And rhyme and revel with the dead. <br /> <br />Why not—since through life's little day <br />Our heads such sad effects produce? <br />Redeemed from worms and wasting clay, <br />This chance is theirs to be of use.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lines-inscribed-upon-a-cup-formed-from-a-skull/
