Poems | ||
X.
Bring me wine at eventide,
And poppy-juice to-morrow!
Can I forget the courtly pride,
Or go to bed with sorrow?
And poppy-juice to-morrow!
Can I forget the courtly pride,
Or go to bed with sorrow?
They called me marian the knave,
Marian the fortunate!
How kind unto the woman-slave
To bid her thank her fate.
Marian the fortunate!
How kind unto the woman-slave
To bid her thank her fate.
32
Bring me wine! it may not be
That I throw up the game,
Nor sink to scorn contentedly
With a brain and a heart of flame.
That I throw up the game,
Nor sink to scorn contentedly
With a brain and a heart of flame.
I am forsaken: not a wheel
Rings on the causeway-stones;
Bring wine! in laughter let me reel,
Lest the vile may say—she moans.
Rings on the causeway-stones;
Bring wine! in laughter let me reel,
Lest the vile may say—she moans.
Bring me wine at eventide,
And poppy-juice to-morrow!
Shall I forget the days of pride,
Or go to bed with sorrow?
And poppy-juice to-morrow!
Shall I forget the days of pride,
Or go to bed with sorrow?
Poems | ||