When Father Time swings round his scythe, Intomb me 'neath the bounteous vine, So that its juices red and blythe, May cheer these thirsty bones of mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JONES'S PRIVATE ARGYMENT by SIDNEY LANIER BERNARDO DEL CARPIO by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS SNOWBOUND by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE STEAM-ENGINE: CANTO 7. LESSON FOR THE PROUD by T. BAKER THE SWEET BRIER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |