Whither dost thou whorry me, Bacchus, being full of Thee? This way, that way, that way, this, Here, and there a fresh Love is. That doth like me, this doth please; Thus a thousand Mistresses, I have now; yet I alone, Having All, injoy not One. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: A BEAUTIFUL NIGHT by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES WHEN MALINDY SINGS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR CAELICA: 100 by FULKE GREVILLE OPEN, TIME by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY |