Of that short Roll of friends writ in my heart Which with thy name begins, since their depart, Whether in the English Provinces they be, Or drinke of Po, Sequan, or Danubie, There's none that sometimes greets us not, and yet Your Trent is Lethe; that past, us you forget. You doe not duties of Societies, If from the'embrace of a lov'd wife you rise, View your fat Beasts, stretch'd Barnes, and labour'd fields, Eate, play, ryde, take all joyes which all day yeelds, And then againe to your embracements goe: Some houres on us your frends, and some bestow Upon your Muse, else both wee shall repent, I that my love, she that her guifts on you are spent. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INFANT SORROW, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE BERTHA IN THE LANE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING HIC VIR, HIC EST' by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY SWEENEY AMONG THE NIGHTINGALES by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT NIGHTMARE, FR. IOLANTHE by WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT STAR-TALK by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES THE FIRE OF DRIFTWOOD; DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |