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* * * A Song If wine and music have the power To ease the sickness of the soul, Let Phoebis every string explore, And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl: Let them their friendly aid employ To make my Cloe's absense light, And seek for pleasure to destroy The sorrows of this live-long night. But she to-morrow will return: Venus, be thou to-morrow great; Thy myrtles strow, thy odours burn, And meet thy favourite nymph in state, Kind goddess, to no other powers Let us to-morrow's blessings own, Thy darling Loves shall guide the hours, And all the day be thine alone. Matthew Prior's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1197 |
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