A GOLDEN service, most loveworthy yoke, Thou, O my pipe, imposest, when thy bowl Alternate dusks and quickens like a coal At every inhalation of sweet smoke. Thou, thrifty farmer of the mind o'erbraced, Dost clear a stage for fancy's puppet folk, And giv'st rich fallow seasons to the soul, Moods soft as sleep that me could wake to taste. Therefore to thee the incense do I pour Of one white volley, that around my head Weaves fragrant circlets ere it spreads to nought: This service do I pay thee, thus adore The healing power in thy soft office shed To dull old griefs and ease harassing thought. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST JUDGMENT by JOHN CROWE RANSOM EPITAPH ON THE LADY MARY VILLIERS [OR VILLERS] (2) by THOMAS CAREW A TERRE (BEING THE PHILOSOPHY OF MANY SOLDIERS) by WILFRED OWEN THE CAP AND BELLS by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS HUSH OF TWILIGHT by G. KENYON ASHENDEN TO MY FRIEND MR. THOMAS FLATMAN, ON THE PUBLISHING OF THESE HIS POEMS by FRANCIS BARNARD (D. 1698) |