COME, while with wine the goblets flow, For wine they say has power to bless; And flowers too -- not roses, no! Bring poppies, bring forgetfulness! A Lethe for departed bliss, And each too well remember'd scene; Earth has no sweeter draught than this, Which drowns the thought of what has been. Here's to the heart's cold iciness, Which cannot smile, but will not sigh, If wine can bring a chill like this, Come, fill for me the goblet high. Come, and the cold, the false, the dead, Shall never cross our revelry; We'll kiss the wine-cup sparkling red, And snap the chain of memory. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A TOCCATA OF GALUPPI'S by ROBERT BROWNING TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY by ROBERT BURNS A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 2 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSHIP by THOMAS MOORE SOLOMON AND THE WITCH by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE PHOENIX TO MRS. BUTTS by WILLIAM BLAKE MOONLIGHT IN SUMMER by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD |