Not all thy flushing Sunnes are set, Herrick, as yet: Nor doth this far-drawn Hemisphere Frown, and look sullen ev'ry where. Daies may conclude in nights; and Suns may rest, As dead, within the West; Yet the next Morne, re-guild the fragrant East. Alas for me! that I have lost E'en all almost: Sunk is my sight; set is my Sun; And all the loome of life undone: The staffe, the Elme, the prop, the shelt'ring wall Whereon my Vine did crawle, Now, now, blowne downe; needs must the old stock fall. Yet, Porter, while thou keep'st alive, In death I thrive: And like a Phenix re-aspire From out my Narde, and Fun'rall fire: And as I prune my feather'd youth, so I Doe mar'l how I co'd die, When I had Thee, my chiefe Preserver, by. I'm up, I'm up, and blesse that hand, Which makes me stand Now as I doe; and but for thee, I must confesse, I co'd not be. The debt is paid: for he who doth resigne Thanks to the gen'rous Vine; Invites fresh Grapes to fill his Presse with Wine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG FOR A VIOLA D'AMORE by AMY LOWELL THE NETHERLANDS by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE MY MARYLAND by JAMES RYDER RANDALL TO HIM THAT WAS CRUCIFIED by WALT WHITMAN ETERNITY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD WHITENESS, OR CHASTITY by JOSEPH BEAUMONT SAME COTTAGE - BUT ANOTHER SONG, OF ANOTHER SEASON by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM |