Time is the school in which we learn,
That time is the fire in which we burn.
I am to my own heart merely a serf
And follow humbly as it glides with autos
And come attentive when it is too sick,
In the bad cold of sorrow much too weak,
To drink some coffee, light a cigarette
And think of summer beaches, blue and gay.
Love is the tact of every good,
The only warmth, the only peace.