POOR the pleasure Doled out by measure, Sweet though it be, while brief As falling of the leaf; Poor is pleasure By weight and measure. Sweet the sorrow Which ends to-morrow; Sharp though it be and sore, It ends for evermore: Zest of sorrow, What ends to-morrow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A WINTER NIGHT by WILLIAM BARNES THE GOOD GREAT MAN by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE EMPTY BOTTLE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN A SECRET SIGH by JOSEPH BEAUMONT TO LIFE by HELEN TAPPAN BERTHOFF THE WHITE EAGLE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |