As in the midst of battle there is room br For thoughts of love, and in foul sin for mirth; br As gossips whisper of a trinket's worth br Spied by the death-bed's flickering candle-gloom; br As in the crevices of Caesar's tomb br The sweet herbs flourish on a little earth br So in this great disaster of our birth br We can be happy, and forget our doom. br br For morning, with a ray of tenderest joy br Gilding the iron heaven, hides the truth, br And evening gently woos us to employ br Our grief in idle catches. Such is youth; br Till from that summer's trance we wake, to find br Despair before us, vanity behind.