AH Ben! Say how or when Shall we, thy guests, Meet at those lyric feasts, Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun; Where we such clusters had As made us nobly wild, not mad; And yet each verse of thine Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine. My Ben! Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it, Lest we that talent spend: And having once brought to an end That precious stock, the store Of such a wit, the world should have no more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHAPERON by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER OUT OF THE OLD HOUSE, NANCY by WILLIAM MCKENDREE CARLETON WALT WHITMAN by HARRISON SMITH MORRIS THE SEASONS: A HYMN by JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748) DIRGE FOR TWO VETERANS by WALT WHITMAN |