Hermit hoar, in solemn cell, Wearing out life's evening gray, Smite thy bosom, Sage, and tell, What is bliss? And which the way? Thus I spoke; and speaking sigh'd; Scarce repress'd the starting tear; When the hoary sage reply'd: "Come, my lad, and drink some beer." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HERE LIES A LADY by JOHN CROWE RANSOM THE SHOOTING OF DAN MCGREW by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 24 by PHILIP SIDNEY AGAINST INDIFFERENCE by CHARLES WEBBE TO A CERTAIN CIVILIAN by WALT WHITMAN THEN AND NOW by JEAN JACQUES ANTOINE AMPERE A HINT FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL by PHILIP AYRES |