The mighty Thebes, and Babylon the great,
Imperial Rome, in turn, have bowed to fate;
So this great world, and each 'particular star',
Must all burn out, like you, my last cigar:
A puff--a transient fire, that ends in smoke,
And all that's given to man--that bitter joke--
Youth, Hope, and Love, three whiffs of passing zest,
Then come the ashes, and the long, long, rest.