In sober mornings, doe not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse; But when that men have both well drunke, and fed, Let my Enchantments then be sung, or read. When Laurell spirts 'ith fire, and when the Hearth Smiles to it selfe, and guilds the roofe with mirth; When up the Thyrse is rais'd, and when the sound Of sacred Orgies flyes, A round, A round. When the Rose raignes, and locks with ointments shine, Let rigid Cato read these Lines of mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COOPER SQUARE by KAREN SWENSON IN THE DEEP WHITE SNOW by ANNE ATWOOD THE FAIREST HE by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR THE WIDOWER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD DEVIL'S GOLD (A HAMPTON LEGEND) by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |