THESE warm spring days When skies are blue I yearn for ways My youth once knew; When cares were few And never great, I'd nothing do But "apricate." To-day my gaze Meandering through What Webster says -- How language grew! -- Chance brought to view That word ornate. Don't "fuss" or "stew," But "apricate." Small good life pays To me or you, When worry sways The health askew. To reimbue With "pep" our state, We shouldn't "rue," But "apricate." @3L'Envoi@1 Ye gods! we sue, From morn till late: Let's nothing do But "apricate." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CREDO by WILLIAM ARTHUR DUNKERLEY SPRING, 1916 by ISAAC ROSENBERG AFTER SUNSET by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE SCHOLAR OF HIS OWN PUPIL; THIRD IDYLLIUM by BION LANDING AT DAWN by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE EXAMINATION by GEORGE GORDON BYRON AT THE ROADHOUSE: IN MEMORY OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON by BLISS CARMAN |