A book of verses underneath the bough, A jug of wine, a loaf of bread-and thou |
A Mr Wilkinson, a clergyman. |
Ah Love! Could thou and I with Fate conspire/ To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,/ Would not we shatter it to bits - and then/ Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire! |
Ah, fill the Cup: what boots it to repeat / How Time is slipping underneath our Feet. |
Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane, / The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again: / How oft hereafter rising shall she look;/ Through this same Garden after me - in vain! |
Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest. |
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, / Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum! |
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! / That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close! |
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! / That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close! / The Nightingale that in the Branches sang, / Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows! |
And much as Wine has played the Infidel, And robbed me of my Robe of Honor Well, I often wonder what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the stuff they sell |
And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Where under crawling coop'd we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help for it As impotently moves as you or I |
And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Where under crawling coop'd we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help for it As impotently moves as you or I |
And when like her, O Saki, you shall pass. |
And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass / Among the Guests Star-scattered on the Grass, / And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot / Where I made one - turn down an empty Glass! |
Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight: And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light |