EVEN in passion, when grape-hung, Rosy and round and dewy-young, There bides a beauty, and we smile: "Suffer them for a little while." But youth shall pass, and passion wane; The ineffable blush comes not again. Yet, buoyant in the after years, The soul laughs softly through her tears. But, oh, thou satyr! Neither youth Is thine, nor wisdom born of truth; Loveless and loath, what irony Is in the very look of thee! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ENGLISHMAN IN ITALY by ROBERT BROWNING THE WORMS AT HEAVEN'S GATE by WALLACE STEVENS OUT OF THE VAST by AUGUSTUS WRIGHT BAMBERGER A SPRING SONG by MATHILDE BLIND THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 113, TO ONE WITH HIS SONNETS by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 19 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |