H. P. Lovecraft Does Carpe Diem.

Flavia, of Ferule & Fescue, recently posted Robert Herrick's "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time" on ye Occasion of Her Third and Thirtieth Yeere. Herrick's poem uses graceful language and broad metaphors to make his multifarious point: Time's a-wastin', so be happy! I couldn't help being reminded by "To the Virgins" of a poem that makes a similar point, "Gaudeamus," by the New England fantasist and epistolarian H. P. Lovecraft. Though the latter brindisi is rather more obvious and raucous than the former lyric, it's worth repeating here.

"Gaudeamus"*

Come hither, my lads, with your tankards of ale,
And drink to the present before it shall fail;
Pile each on your platter a mountain of beef,
For 'tis eating and drinking that bring us relief:
  So fill up your glass,
  For life will soon pass;
When you're dead ye'll ne'er drink to your king or your lass!

Anacreon had a red nose, so they say;
But what's a red nose if ye're happy and gay?
Gad split me! I'd rather be red whilst I'm here,
Than white as a lily and dead half a year!
  So Betty, my miss,
  Come give me a kiss;
In hell there's no innkeeper's daughter like this!

Young Harry, propp'd up just as straight as he's able,
Will soon lose his wig and slip under the table,
But fill up your goblets and pass 'em around
Better under the table than under the ground!
  So revel and chaff
  As ye thirstily quaff:
Under six feet of dirt 'tis less easy to laugh!

The fiend strike me blue! l'm scarce able to walk,
And damn me if I can stand upright or talk!
Here, landlord, bid Betty to summon a chair;
l'll try home for a while, for my wife is not there!
  So lend me a hand;
  I'm not able to stand,
But I'm gay whilst I linger on top of the land!

* Gaudeamus. [L., let us rejoice.]

For those keeping track, this poem was first published as part of Lovecraft's short story "The Tomb" (1917).