Busy, curious, thirsty fly, Drink with me and drink as I! Freely welcome to my cup, Could'st thou sip and sip it up; Make the most of life you may; Life is short and wears away.

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.

Maybe,' he said hesitantly, 'maybe there is a beast.'
The assembly cried out savagely and Ralph stood up in amazement.
'You, Simon? You believe in this?'
'I don't know,' said Simon. 'But . . .'
His heartbeats were choking him.
The storm broke.
'Sit down!'
'Shut up!'
'Take the conch!'
'Sod you!'
'Shut up!'
Ralph shouted.
'Hear him! He's got the conch!'
'What I mean is. Maybe . . . it's only us.'
'Nuts!'
That was Piggy, shocked out of decorum.
'We could be sort of . . .'
Simon became inarticulate in his effort to express mankind's essential illness.

They looked at each other, baffled, in love and hate.

Oh! that the memories which survive us here Were half so lovely as these wings of thine! Pure relics of a blameless life, that shine Now thou art gone.