It is cold, O Thaliarchus, and Soracte's crest is white; There is skating on the Tiber; there is No Relief in Sight. Tell the janitor the radiator's absolutely cold ... Let us crack a quart of Sabine; I've a case of four-year old. Here's to Folly, Thaliarchus! Here is "Banzai!", "Pros't!", and "How!" We should fret about the future! We should corrugate the brow! Any joy is so much velvet; Age impinges soon enough. Why resolve to can the frivol? Why decide to chop the fluff? On the well-known Campus Martius, as the shade of night descends, There are ladies castlewalking with their unplatonic friends; Many a sweetly smiling damsel—need I fill up further space? Hurry, O my Thaliarchus, let us go that to there place. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FACADE: 7. MADAME MOUSE TROTS by EDITH SITWELL GOOD-BYE DOROTHY GAYLE: THE ROAD TO BUFFALO by KAREN SWENSON THE FLY, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE CLEVER TOM CLINCH GOING TO BE HANGED by JONATHAN SWIFT THE CONFIDENT SCIENTIST by ALEXIS THE SPIRIT OF THE TIMES by ALEXANDER ANDERSON |