"Under the flag
Of each his faction, they to battle bring
Their embryon atoms." - Milton

WELCOME joy, and welcome sorrow,
Lethe's **** and Hermes' feather;
Come to-day, and come to-morrow,
I do love you both together!
I love to mark sad faces in fair weather;
And hear a merry laugh amid the thunder;
Fair and foul I love together.
Meadows sweet where flames are under,
And a giggle at a wonder;
Visage sage at pantomine;
Funeral, and steeple-chime;
Infant playing with a skull;
Morning fair, and shipwreck'd hull;
Nightshade with the woodbine kissing;
Serpents in red roses hissing;
Cleopatra regal-dress'd
With the aspic at her breast;
Dancing music, music sad,
Both together, sane and mad;
Muses bright and muses pale;
Sombre Saturn, Momus hale; -
Laugh and sigh, and laugh again;
Oh the sweetness of the pain!
Muses bright, and muses pale,
Bare your faces of the veil;
Let me see; and let me write
Of the day, and of the night -
Both together: - let me slake
All my thirst for sweet heart-ache!
Let my bower be of yew,
Interwreath'd with myrtles new;
Pines and lime-trees full in bloom,
And my couch a low grass-tomb.

O blush not so! O blush not so!
      Or I shall think you knowing;
And if you smile the blushing while,
      Then maidenheads are going.

There's a blush for want, and a blush for shan't,
      And a blush for having done it;
There's a blush for thought, and a blush for nought,
      And a blush for just begun it.

O sigh not so! O sigh not so!
      For it sounds of Eve's sweet pippin;
By these loosen'd lips you have tasted the pips
      And fought in an amorous nipping.

Will you play once more at nice-cut-core,
      For it only will last our youth out,
And we have the prime of the kissing time,
      We have not one sweet tooth out.

There's a sigh for aye, and a sigh for nay,
      And a sigh for "I can't bear it!"
O what can be done, shall we stay or run?
      O cut the sweet apple and share it!

We are all going to die.
We are all going to be forgotten.
It doesn't matter if your grave is six feet deep and three feet wide,
Or if your body was slung over the side,
of a boat in motion
from hands devoid of emotion
We all end up just the same.
Decayed and rotten.
Forgotten.
If that isn't Equality,
I don't know what is.