LET the ghosts in black Erebus roar, Whilst the moon does dance over the hills And billows be tumbling to shore, Whilst to Bacchus a brimmer each fills. Come, bowl away, Brook no delay, But fairly play: He drinks a couple that spills. 'Twill drive away fancies and fears; And make us grow lusty and strong, 'Tis nectar, 'tis nectar that cheers, And makes life to spin out so long. Come, bowl away, Brook no delay, But fairly play: He that drinks not, to Nature does wrong. If they're off, let's fill 'em again; And merrily let them go round; He's a Slave that presumes to complain, For no pleasure like drinking is found. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEAD LEAVES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TWENTY-FOUR HOKKU ON A MODERN THEME by AMY LOWELL SURFACES AND MASKS; 4 by CLARENCE MAJOR THE SLAVE TRADE: VIEW FROM THE MIDDLE PASSAGE by CLARENCE MAJOR UNDER A TELEPHONE POLE by CARL SANDBURG SWALLOW FLIGHT by SARA TEASDALE STANZAS IN MEMORY OF THE AUTHOR OF OBERMANN by MATTHEW ARNOLD |