SORROW and joy, two sisters coy, Aye for our hearts are fighting: The half our years are teen and tears, And half are mere delighting. So when joy's cup is brimm'd full up, Take no thought o' the morrow: So fine's your bliss, ye shall not miss To have your turn wi' sorrow. And she with ruth will teach you truth, She is man's very med'cin: She'll drive us straight to heav'n's high gate, Ay, she can stuff our heads in. Blush not nor blench with either wench, Make neither brag nor pother: God send you, son, enough of one And not too much o' t'other. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTHER AND SON by KAREN SWENSON VLAMERTINGHE: PASSING THE CHATEAU, JULY 1917 by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE EXILE TO HIS WIFE by JOSEPH BRENAN THE DOG by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES WITCH-WIFE by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY SONNET: 5 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE EROTION by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE |