'Tis not the food, but the content That makes the Tables merriment. Where Trouble serves the board, we eate The Platters there, as soone as meat. A little Pipkin with a bit Of Mutton, or of Veale in it, Set on my Table, (Trouble-free) More then a Feast contenteth me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEGY: 16. ON HIS MISTRESS by JOHN DONNE TO THE THAWING WIND by ROBERT FROST HAARLEM HEIGHTS by ARTHUR GUITERMAN THE ROSE OF PEACE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: DIRGE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |