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...INEVITABLY (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: AMOS SIBLEY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE GREAT RACE PASSES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HELEN OF TROY by SARA TEASDALE COUNTRY SCHOOLROOM, ADIRONDACK MOUNTAINS by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE FRIENDLY WOOD by PAUL VALERY |