Not all thy flushing Sunnes are set, Herrick, as yet: Nor doth this far-drawn Hemisphere Frown, and look sullen ev'ry where. Daies may conclude in nights; and Suns may rest, As dead, within the West; Yet the next Morne, re-guild the fragrant East. Alas for me! that I have lost E'en all almost: Sunk is my sight; set is my Sun; And all the loome of life undone: The staffe, the Elme, the prop, the shelt'ring wall Whereon my Vine did crawle, Now, now, blowne downe; needs must the old stock fall. Yet, Porter, while thou keep'st alive, In death I thrive: And like a Phenix re-aspire From out my Narde, and Fun'rall fire: And as I prune my feather'd youth, so I Doe mar'l how I co'd die, When I had Thee, my chiefe Preserver, by. I'm up, I'm up, and blesse that hand, Which makes me stand Now as I doe; and but for thee, I must confesse, I co'd not be. The debt is paid: for he who doth resigne Thanks to the gen'rous Vine; Invites fresh Grapes to fill his Presse with Wine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOD by GABRIEL ROMANOVITCH DERZHAVIN GOD EVERYWHERE by ABRAHAM IBN EZRA WALT WHITMAN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE PESSIMIST by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON FOR ONE WHO IS SERENE by MARGARET E. BRUNER |