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The Deserter

If sadly thinking,
With spirit sinking,
Could more than drinking
    My cares compose,
A cure for sorrow
From sighs I'd borrow,
And hope to-morrow
    Would end my woes.
But as in wailing
There's nought availing,
And Death unfailing
    Will strike the blow,
Then for that reason,
And for a season,
Let us be merry
    Before we go.
To joy a stranger,
A way-worn ranger,
In every danger
    My course I've run;
Now hope all ending,
And Death befriending,
His last aid lending,
    My cares are done:
No more a rover,
Or hapless lover,
My griefs are over,
    My glass runs low;
Then for that reason,
And for a season,
Let us be merry
    Before we go!

John Philpot Curran


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Birmingham
Clown In The Moon
Days
The Deserter
Don't Be Square
Flowers That Die
The Folks Who Live On The Hill
Getting There
Hullabaloo
I Am Scared Of...
Impression Du Matin
An Interlude
Jerusalem
Mama, You Been on My Mind
The Old Familiar Faces
On Creativity
One Day I May Believe In Spring
People On Trains
Red
Riddles
Stardust
Trial & Error
What Ifs
When You Are Old
Wit and Wisdom

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