So, Kenyon, thou lover of frolic and laughter, We meet in a place where we never were sad. But who knows what destiny waits us hereafter, How little or much of the pleasures we had! The leaves of perhaps our last autumn are falling; Half-spent is the fire that may soon cease to burn; How many are absent who heed not our calling! Alas, and how many who can not return! Now, ere you are one of them, puff from before you The sighs and entreaties that sadden Torquay: A score may cling round you, and one may adore you; If so, the more reason to hurry away. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RELIGIO LAICI; OR, A LAYMAN'S FAITH by JOHN DRYDEN BEAUTIFUL SNOW by JOHN WHITAKER WATSON THE SULTANA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PSALM 20. EXAUDIAT TE DEUS by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE SONG by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN OLD LADY NECESSITY by BERTON BRALEY DEBORAH LEE by WILLIAM HENRY BURLEIGH THAT GRAY, COLD CHRISTMAS DAY (DECEMBER 25, 1620) by HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH |