EAT thou and drink; to-morrow thou shalt die. Surely the earth, that's wise being very old, Needs not our help. Then loose me, love, and hold Thy sultry hair up from my face; that I May pour for thee this golden wine, brim-high, Till round the glass thy fingers glow like gold. We'll drown all hours: thy song, while hours are toll'd, Shall leap, as fountains veil the changing sky. Now kiss, and think that there are really those, My own high-bosomed beauty, who increase Vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose our way! Through many years they toil; then on a day They die not,--for their life was death,--but cease; And round their narrow lips the mould falls close. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WORD-PORTRAITS: THE DESCRIPTION OF SIR GEOFFREY CHAUCER by ROBERT GREENE ON A GRAVE AT GRINDELWALD by FREDERICK WILLIAM HENRY MYERS MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 4 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE LEAF by ANTOINE VINCENT ARNAULT A BALLADE OF OTHER IDOLS by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) INVULNERABLE by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD: AGLAIA. A PASTORAL by NICHOLAS BRETON |