COME, drink a stirrup cup with me, Before we close our rouse. You 're all aglow with wine, I know: The master of the house, Unmindful of our revelry, Has drowned the carking devil care, And slumbers in his chair. Come, drink a cup before we start; We 've far to ride to-night. And Death may take the race we make, And check our gallant flight: But even he must play his part, And tho' the look he wears be grim, We 'll drink a toast to him! For Death, -- a swift old chap is he, And swift the steed He rides. He needs no chart o'er main or mart, For no direction bides. So, come, a final cup with me, And let the soldiers' chorus swell, -- To hell with care, to hell! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PLUMPUPPETS by CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON WHAT TOMAS AN BUILE SAID IN A PUB by JAMES STEPHENS CROSSING THE BAR by ALFRED TENNYSON OVERTURE TO A DANCE OF LOCOMOTIVES by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 38. NO PERJURY IN LOVE by PHILIP AYRES SPIRITUAL WORSHIP by BERNARD BARTON BY CANDLELIGHT by MARION BRINSON BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 2. THE FIRST SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |