In sober mornings, doe not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse; But when that men have both well drunke, and fed, Let my Enchantments then be sung, or read. When Laurell spirts 'ith fire, and when the Hearth Smiles to it selfe, and guilds the roofe with mirth; When up the Thyrse is rais'd, and when the sound Of sacred Orgies flyes, A round, A round. When the Rose raignes, and locks with ointments shine, Let rigid Cato read these Lines of mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ABANDONED RANCH, BIG BEND by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE VALLEY OF UNREST (2) by EDGAR ALLAN POE RESERVE by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE MUTABILITY (2) by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): JASON'S SOWING AND REAPING by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS A POEM FOR THE SEFIROT AS WHEEL OF LIGHT by NAFTALI BACHARACH THE ICE CAGE by JAMES METHVEN BALLANTYNE |