WHAT though the storm-king growls in rage, And the daylight fast is dimming; We'll add to the score on Mem'ry's page, While the butt with cheer is brimming. And Love shall be the tapster gay, To draw at nod or winking; And whether the clouds be gold or gray, Here's to the cup and its clinking! Those moist lips, touched in single bliss, More constant are than lovers'; Their foamy depth holds many a kiss, And many a sigh it smothers. Then ho for the blood of youth, say I, And the mad, glad hopes it bringeth; For the palsied step of Age draws nigh, -- "@3Sans@1 hope, @3sans@1 joy!" he singeth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOR THE INVESTITURE by CECIL DAY LEWIS A POEM FROM BOULDER RIDGE by JAMES GALVIN TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ITALIAN PICTURES: JULY IN VALLOMBROSA by MINA LOY CAMOMILE TEA by KATHERINE MANSFIELD LIVE AND HELP LIVE by EDWIN MARKHAM |