WINTER days and spring and summer still the yearly round renew; And the Sun himself goes under, giving lady Night her due. Weary not your soul with asking whence the sunshine, whence the showers, But where sweetest myrrh is selling, where the lover's crown of flowers. Piper, play on. O for living streams of honey from a triple fountain spilling! Five of milk, of wine ten other, and a dozen myrrh-distilling! Add me two of fresh spring-water, three of snowy coldness add, With a lad to every fountain and a lass to every lad. Piper, play on. Lydian pipe and lyre of Lydia work to make my holiday, Phrygia's reed is never idle, timbrels tap their hides away. Dear to me in life their music, and when death comes, I entreat, Set the pipes above for headstone and a lyre to mark my feet. Piper, play on. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PLEASURE MIXED WITH PAIN by THOMAS WYATT SONNET: TO HOMER by JOHN KEATS THE LAST SUPPER by RAINER MARIA RILKE VANITAS VANITATUM, FR. THE DEVIL'S CASE LAW by JOHN WEBSTER THE BIRDS: THE HOOPOE'S CALL TO HIS WIFE PROCNE, THE NIGHTINGALE by ARISTOPHANES UPON THE SAME by DECIMUS MAGNUS AUSONIUS WORK AND WORSHIP; A LEGEND OF THE DANUBE by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER |