The death of the Duke of Berry (V. Hugo, Odes et Ballades, Edition nationale, t1) - P. H. Regereau

Let us moderate the transports of a senseless intoxication;
The passage is quite short from joy to sorrows;
Death loves to lay its heavy and icy hand
On flower-crowned foreheads.
Tomorrow, stained with ashes, humble, bowing our heads,
The vain memory of our feasts
Will be for us almost a remorse;
Our games will be followed by sepulchral pomp;
For with us, unhappy! the hymn of saturnalia
Serves as a prelude to the song of the dead.