EVEN in passion, when grape-hung, Rosy and round and dewy-young, There bides a beauty, and we smile: "Suffer them for a little while." But youth shall pass, and passion wane; The ineffable blush comes not again. Yet, buoyant in the after years, The soul laughs softly through her tears. But, oh, thou satyr! Neither youth Is thine, nor wisdom born of truth; Loveless and loath, what irony Is in the very look of thee! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: SERENADE by EDITH SITWELL DRIVING HOME THE COWS by KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD SATIRES: 51. UPON NOTHING by JOHN WILMOT THE SALZBURG CHIMES by HENRY ALFORD THE FRAILTY OF MAN'S LIFE by PHILIP AYRES THE CONCLUSION OF A LETTER TO THE REV. MR. C --. by MARY BARBER |