Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ELEGIE UPON ANACREON, WHO WAS CHOAKED BY A GRAPE-STONE, by ABRAHAM COWLEY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: How shall I lament thine end Last Line: As strong as thunder is in jove's. Subject(s): Poetry & Poets | ||||||||
HOW shall I lament thine end, My best Servant, and my Friend? Nay, and if from a Deity So much Deified as I, It sound not too profane and odd, Oh my Master, and my God! For 'tis true, most mighty Poet, (Though I like not Men should know it) I am in naked Nature less, Less by much then in thy Dress. All thy Verse is softer farre Then the downy Feathers are Of my Wings, or of my Arrows, Of my Mother's Doves, or Sparrows. Sweet as Lovers' freshest kisses, Or their riper following blisses; Graceful. cleanly, smooth and round, All with Venus Girdle bound; And thy Life was all the while Kinde and gentle as thy Stile. The Smooth-paced Hours of every day Glided numerously away. Like thy Verse each Hour did pass. Sweet and short, like that it was. Some do but their Youth allow me, Just what they by Nature owe me, The Time that's mine, and not their own, The certain Tribute of my Crown; When they grow old, they grow to be Too Busie, or too wise for me. Thou wert wiser, and did'st know None too wise for Love can grow. Love was with thy Life entwin'd Close as Heat with Fire is joyn'd; A powerful Brand prescribed the date Of thine, like Meleager's Fate. Th' Antiperistasis of Age More enflamed thy amorous rage; Thy silver Hairs yielded me more Then even golden curls before. Had I the power of Creation, As I have of Generation, Where I the matter must obey, And cannot work Plate out of Clay, My Creatures should be all like Thee, 'Tis Thou should'st their Idea bee. They, like Thee, should throughly hate Business, Honor, Title, State. Other wealth they should not know But what my Living Mines bestow; The Pomp of Kings they should confess At their Crownings to be less Then a Lover's humblest Guise, When at his Mistress feet he lies. Rumour they no more should mind Then Men safe-landed to the Wind. Wisdom it self they should not hear When it presumes to be Severe. Beauty alone they should admire; Nor look at Fortune's vain attire, Nor ask what Parents it can shew; With Dead or Old 't has nought to do. They should not love yet All, or Any, But very Much, and very Many. All their Life should gilded be With Mirth, and Wit, and Gayetie, Well-remembring, and Applying The Necessity of Dying. Their chearful Heads should always wear All that crowns the flowry Year. They should always laugh, and sing, And dance, and strike the harmonious string. Verse should from their Tongue so flow, As if it in the Mouth did grow, As swiftly answering their command, As tunes obey the artful Hand. And whilst I do thus discover Th' ingredients of a happy Lover, 'Tis, my Anacreon, for thy sake I of the Grape no mention make. 'Till my Anacreon by thee fell, Cursed Plant, I loved thee well, And 'twas oft my wanton use To dip my Arrows in thy juice. Cursed Plant, 'tis true I see, Th' old report that goes of Thee, That with Gyants' blood the Earth Stain'd and poyson'd gave thee birth, And now thou wreak'st thy ancient spight On Men in whom the Gods delight. Thy Patron Bacchus, 'tis no wonder, Was brought forth in Flames and Thunder; In rage, in quarrels, and in fights, Worse then his Tygers he delights; In all our heaven I think there be No such ill-natured God as He. Thou pretendest, Trayterous Wine, To be the Muses' friend and Mine. With Love and Wit thou dost begin, False Fires, alas, to draw us in; Which, if our course we by them keep, Misguide to Madness, or to Sleep. Sleep were well; thou hast learnt a way To Death it self now to betray. It grieves me when I see what Fate Does on the best of Mankind waite. Poets or Lovers let them be, 'Tis neither Love nor Poesie Can arm against Death's smallest dart The Poet's Head, or Lover's Heart. But when their life in its decline, Touches the Inevitable Line, All the World's Mortal to 'um then, And Wine is Aconite to men, Nay in Death's Hand, the Grape-Stone proves As strong as Thunder is in Jove's. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ENVY OF OTHER PEOPLE'S POEMS by ROBERT HASS THE NINETEENTH CENTURY AS A SONG by ROBERT HASS THE FATALIST: TIME IS FILLED by LYN HEJINIAN OXOTA: A SHORT RUSSIAN NOVEL: CHAPTER 192 by LYN HEJINIAN LET ME TELL YOU WHAT A POEM BRINGS by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA JUNE JOURNALS 6/25/88 by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA FOLLOW ROZEWICZ by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA HAVING INTENDED TO MERELY PICK ON AN OIL COMPANY, THE POEM GOES AWRY by HICOK. BOB |
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