THERE are, whose blood Impetuous rages through the turgid veins, Who better bear the fiery fruits of Ind Than the moist melon, or pale cucumber. Of chilly nature others fly the board Supplied with slaughter, and the vernal powers For cooler, kinder, sustenance implore. Some even the generous nutriment detest Which, in the shell, the sleeping embryo rears. Some, more unhappy still, repent the gifts Of Pales; soft, delicious and benign: ... The fostering dew of tender sprouting life; The best refection of declining age. ... The stomach, urged beyond its active tone, Hardly to nutrimental chyle subdues The softest food: unfinished and depraved, The chyle, in all its future wand'rings, owns Its turbid fountain; not by purer streams So to be cleared, but foulness will remain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HILL ABOVE THE MINE by MALCOLM COWLEY SONG FOR THE LUDDITES by GEORGE GORDON BYRON CANCIONEROS: 2 by CRISTOBAL DE CASTILLEJO LAURA SLEEPING; ODE by CHARLES COTTON EPIGRAM: 59. ON SPIES by BEN JONSON THE WHITE MAN'S BURDEN by RUDYARD KIPLING ENDYMION by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |