There's little comfort in the wise
For Cambridge people rarely smile, Being urban, squat, and packed with guile.
Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
Store up reservoirs of calm and content and draw on them at later moments when the source isn't there, but the need is very great.
Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
I know what things are good: friendship and work and conversation. These I shall have.