COOL, and palm-shaded from the torrid heat, The young brown tenor puts his singing by, And sets the twin pipe to his lips to try Some air of bulrush-glooms where lovers meet; O swart musician, time and fame are fleet, Brief all delight, and youth's feet fain to fly! Pipe on in peace! To-morrow must we die? What matter, if our life to-day be sweet! Soon, soon, the silver paper-reeds that sigh Along the Sacred River will repeat The echo of the dark-stoled bearers' feet, Who carry you, with wailing, where must lie Your swathed and withered body, by-and-by, In perfumed darkness with the grains of wheat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE AMERICAN FLAG by JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE LEINSTER by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY VETERAN SIRENS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 23. LOVE'S BAUBLES by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI ON SEEING BLENHEIM CASTLE by LUCY AIKEN THE HINT O' HAIRST by HEW AINSLIE ODES: BOOK 1. ODE 1. PREFACE by MARK AKENSIDE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 41. FAREWELL TO JULIET (3) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |