ALTHOUGH my years be not yet two-and-twenty, I'm sick of life as any man can be. O Loves, with work to do elsewhere and plenty, Why must you make your bonfires out of me? Nay, little Loves, where will you find employment When this poor soul you've teased so long decamps? Ah, sure enough, fall to your old enjoyment And play at dice together, idle scamps! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMEDAY BOOK: JOHN CAMPBELL AND CARL EATON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SONNETS FROM SERIES RELATING TO EDGAR ALLEN POE: 1 by SARAH HELEN POWER WHITMAN THE FAIR THIEF by CHARLES WYNDHAM THE MORAL FABLES: THE WOLF AND THE WETHER by AESOP MARECHAL NIEL by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |