HITHER frolics and delights! Day is dying, and by nights I my years would number; What have earth and time to give But the when that pleasures live Toil and trouble slumber? Welcome arms asunder thrown, Lifted chin, and locks adown The forehead sleek and free, Crimson cheek and glancing eye, Lips where smiles aye lurking lie, The tiptoe tread of glee. The taper'd hall that music haunts, Where sparkles wine, where beauty pants, And feast and dance abound; The midnight hour when sages sour Are hush'd abed or hous'd in bower, But wit runs giggling round. The clink of an unheeded clock, That vainly gives a threefold knock, The toast that glows the breast, The jolly-chorused roundelay, The curtain that keeps out the day, Let angels have the rest. |