THE morning sky is hung with mist, The rolling drum the street alarms, The host is paid, his daughter kiss'd, So now to arms, so now to arms. Our evening bowl was strong and stiff And may we get such quarters oft, I ne'er was better lodged, for if The straw was hard, the maid was soft. So now to arms, to arms, to arms, And fare you well, my little dear, And if they ask who won your charms, Why say 'twas in your Nineteenth Year. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THOMAS MACDONAGH by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE GOOD-NIGHT TO THE SEASON by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED TELLING THE BEES (A COLONIAL CUSTOM) by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE PIRATE STORY by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 8 by EDWARD TAYLOR |