If sadly thinking, And spirits sinking, Could more than drinking Our griefs compose -- A cure for sorrow From care I'd borrow; And hope tomorrow Might end my woes. But since in wailing There's naught availing, For Death, unfailing, Will strike the blow; Then, for that reason, And for the season, Let us be merry Before we go! A wayworn ranger, To joy a stranger, Through every danger My course I've run. Now, death befriending, His last aid lending, My griefs are ending, My woes are done. No more a rover, Or hapless lover, Those cares are over -- "My cup runs low"; Then, for that reason, And for the season, Let us be merry Before we go! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LITTLE FEET by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN LOVE'S SECRET, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE SORROW by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE A LONDON PLANE-TREE by AMY LEVY THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE by CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE THE OLD HOKUM BUNCOMBE by ROBERT EMMET SHERWOOD |