“This is no time to save, but spend,
To give for nothing, not to lend.
Let foes make friends: let them forget
The mischief-making dead that fret
The living with complaint like this—
“He wronged us once, hate him and his.”
Christmas has come; let every man
Eat, drink, be merry all he can.
Ale’s my best mark, but if port wine
Or whisky’s yours—let it be mine;
No matter what lies in the bowls,
We’ll make it rich with our own souls.
Farewell to study, books and pen,
And welcome to all kinds of men.”
From Foliage: Various Poems by W. H. Davies. A man who had known poverty, living on the streets, before he was taken up by other writers.