WE hold not in our power The coming morrows' time; Life has no certain dower. Kings' favors we desire, And waiting them, expire Ere hope has passed its prime. The man whom Death has ta'en Eats not, and drinks no more, Though barns be full of grain And vaults have wine in store On Earth, that he has bought. They reach not even his thought. Then what shall care bestead? Go, Corydon, prepare A couch with roses spread; To banish cark and care I'll lie outstretched for hours Mid pots and heaped-up flowers. And bring D'Aurat to me And all that company The Muses love so well, Forgetting not Jodelle. From eve to morn we'll feast With fivescore cups at least! Pour wine, and pour again! In this great goblet golden I'll drink to Estienne Who saved from Lethe's treasures The sweet, sweet Teian measures Of that lost singer olden, Anacreon the wine-king, To whom the drinker's pleasure Is due, and Bacchus' treasure His flasks, and Love, and Venus, And tipsy old Silenus In vine-clad bowers drinking! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRAGMENT, ON THE BACK OF THE POET'S MS. OF CANTO I OF 'DON JUAN' by GEORGE GORDON BYRON A PROPER NEW BALLAD [ENTITLED THE FAIRIES' FAREWELL] by RICHARD CORBET IN HOSPITAL: 28. DISCHARGED by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY THE CHARACTER OF HOLLAND by ANDREW MARVELL SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 48 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI A MORNING HYMN by CHARLES WESLEY |