Hermit hoar, in solemn cell, Wearing out life's evening gray, Smite thy bosom, Sage, and tell, What is bliss? And which the way? Thus I spoke; and speaking sigh'd; Scarce repress'd the starting tear; When the hoary sage reply'd: "Come, my lad, and drink some beer." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY EPITAPH ON SUSANNAH BARBAULD MARISSAL by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE DUST by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH MARGARET AND DORA by THOMAS CAMPBELL FRAGMENT WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT by GEORGE CRABBE THE CAGE (1) by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE |