THE morning sky is hung with mist, The rolling drum the street alarms, The host is paid, his daughter kiss'd, So now to arms, so now to arms. Our evening bowl was strong and stiff And may we get such quarters oft, I ne'er was better lodged, for if The straw was hard, the maid was soft. So now to arms, to arms, to arms, And fare you well, my little dear, And if they ask who won your charms, Why say 'twas in your Nineteenth Year. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OF DISTRESS BEING HUMILIATED BY THE CLASSICAL CHINESE POETS by HAYDEN CARRUTH YOUR LAD, AND MY LAD by RANDALL PARRISH AGE IN YOUTH by TRUMBULL STICKNEY VILLANELLE by JOACHIM DU BELLAY COSMIC BLESSINGS by SISTER BENEDICTION PSALM 143 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |