A LILT and a swing, And a ditty to sing, Or ever the night grow old; The wine is within, And I'm sure 't were a sin For a soldier to choose to be cold, my dear, For a soldier to choose to be cold. We 're right for a spell, But the fever is -- well, No thing to be braved, at least; So bring me the wine; No low fever in mine, For a drink is more kind than a priest, my dear, For a drink is more kind than a priest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HER MERRIMENT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES MEZZO CAMMIN by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW POLWART ON THE GREEN by ALLAN RAMSAY FRAGMENTS OF A POEM ON THE EXCELLENCE OF CHRISTIANITY by JAMES HAY BEATTIE WHAT SAID THE LITTLE ADMIRAL? by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |