I FILL'D to thee, to thee I drank, I nothing did but drink and fill; The bowl by turns was bright and blank, 'Twas drinking, filling, drinking still! At length I bid an artist paint Thy image in this ample cup, That I might see the dimpled saint, To whom I quaff'd my nectar up. Behold how bright that purple lip Is blushing through the wave at me Every roseate drop I sip Is just like kissing wine from thee! But, oh! I drink the more for this; For, ever when the draught I drain, Thy lip invites another kiss, And in the nectar flows again! So, here's to thee, my gentle dear! And may that eye for ever shine Beneath as soft and sweet a tear As bathes it in this bowl of mine! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAUCERS WORDES UNTO ADAM, HIS OWN SCRIVEYN by GEOFFREY CHAUCER LONG ISLAND SOUND by EMMA LAZARUS IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 9 by ALFRED TENNYSON FAREWELL, UNKIST by THOMAS WYATT AGAMEMNON: THE PURPLE CARPER by AESCHYLUS MYRMIDONES: THE WOUNDED EAGLE by AESCHYLUS |