Now's the day and now's the hour.
Even every ray of hope destroyed and not a wish to gild the gloom.
Life is but a day at most.
Pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed.
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley, And leave us nought but grief and pain, For promised joy.
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn.