An ode.it reads:
Let us repair to our haunts of yore
A fine excuse for running down
A book forgotten all the more
And for curiosity, a frown
A stool for feet still sore.
Marry good fellows, a toast it is
Make glass ring out the hours
And pour it out, and shake the fist
Even bring out the sours
No libation would go amiss.
Let us have a song then, who can sing
Even he cannot recall the words
Let not this shame here cause a sting
Nor offense be drawn to swords
For we are all just remembering.