Though logic choppers rule the town, And every man and maid and boy Has marked a distant object down, An aimless joy is a pure joy, Or so did Tom ORoughley say That saw the surges running by, And wisdom is a butterfly And not a gloomy bird of prey. If little planned is little sinned But little need the grave distress. Whats dying but a second wind? How but in zigzag wantonness Could trumpeter Michael be so brave? Or something of that sort he said, And if my dearest friend were dead Id dance a measure on his grave.