Coda There's little in taking or giving, There's little in water or wine; This living, this living, this living Was never a project of mine. Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is The gain of the one at the top, For art is a form of catharsis, And love is a permanent flop, And work is the province of cattle, And rest's for a clam in a shell, So I'm thinking of throwing the battle - Would you kindly direct me to hell? Ultimatum I'm wearied of wearying love, my friend, Of worry and strain and doubt; Before we begin, let us view the end, And maybe I'll do without. There's never the pang that was worth the tear, And toss in the night I won't - So either you do or you don't, my dear, Either you do or you don't! The table is ready, so lay your cards And if they should augur pain, I'll tender you ever my kind regards And run for the fastest train. I haven't the will to be spent and sad; My heart's to be gay and true - Then either you don't or you do, my lad, Either you don't or you do! Sweet Violets You are brief and frail and blue - Little sisters, I am, too. You are Heaven's masterpieces - Little loves, the likeness ceases. Theory Into love and out again, Thus I went, and thus I go. Spare your voice, and hold your pen - Well and bitterly I know All the songs were ever sung, All the words were ever said; Could it be, when I was young, Some one dropped me on my head?