At The Sign Of The Skull

It's "Gallop and go!" and "Slow, now, slow!" With every man in this life below-- But the things of the world are a fleeting show.

The post-chaise Time that all must take Is old with clay and dust; Two horses strain its rusty brake Named Pleasure and Disgust.

Our baggage totters on its roof, Of Vanity and Care, As Hope, the post-boy, spurs each hoof, Or heavy-eyed Despair.

And now a comrade with us rides, Love, haply, or Remorse; And that dim traveler besides, Gaunt Memory on a horse.

And be we king or be we kern Who ride the roads of Sin, No matter how the roads may turn They lead us to that Inn:

Unto that Inn within that land Of silence and of gloom, Whose ghastly Landlord takes our hand And leads us to our room.

It's "Gallop and go!" and "Slow, now, slow!" With every man in this life below-- But the things of the world are a fleeting show.