My Mistress' frowns are hard to bear, And yet I will not quite despair; Nor think, because her lips I leave, There's nothing for me but to grieve. —The goblet's lip awaiteth mine: My grief I quench in rosy wine. Dame Fortune too has faithless gone: But let her go! I will not moan. Draw in your chair, old Friend! and see What rating Fortune has from me. Clink yet again your glass with mine,— To Fortune's health, in rosy wine! Pass, Fortune! pass, thou fickle jade! One fortunately constant maid Smiles on me yet; though loves depart, Her presence gladdeneth my heart, Thy tendrils cling, O loving Vine! My griefs I quench in rosy wine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: JULY by EDMUND SPENSER THE WORLD (1) by HENRY VAUGHAN LIMERICK by ROBERT JONES BURDETTE THE BATTLE OF LIEGE by DANA BURNET EARTH'S BREAST by ELIZABETH BARBARA CANADAY QUAG-HOLE by WHITTAKER CHAMBERS |