Let not the jesting bitter gods Who sit so goldenly aloof from us Mock us too deeply, Let them not boast they hold alone The reins of pleasure, the delight of lust- We that are but air and dust Moistening that dust a little with old wine And kindling the air with fire and love Have burned an hour or two with blossoming pangs, And, leaning on soft breasts made keen with love And murmuring fierce words of rending bliss, Have gathered turn by turn unto our lips The twin wild roses of delight, The quickflower-flames that sear into the soul Sharp wounds of pleasure and extreme desire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT NIGHT; SONNET by AMY LOWELL THE PILGRIM [SONG], FR. THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS by JOHN BUNYAN ACCIDENT IN ART by RICHARD HOVEY IMPROMPTU by FRANCOIS JOACHIM DE PIERRE DE BERNIS PSALM 73: INTRODUCTORY LINES by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE IN THE DARK by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |