Now is the time for mirth; <br />Nor cheek or tongue be dumb; <br />For with [the] flowery earth <br />The golden pomp is come. <br /> <br />The golden pomp is come; <br />For now each tree does wear, <br />Made of her pap and gum, <br />Rich beads of amber here. <br /> <br />Now reigns the Rose, and now <br />Th' Arabian dew besmears <br />My uncontrolled brow, <br />And my retorted hairs. <br /> <br />Homer, this health to thee! <br />In sack of such a kind, <br />That it would make thee see, <br />Though thou wert ne'er so blind <br /> <br />Next, Virgil I'll call forth, <br />To pledge this second health <br />In wine, whose each cup's worth <br />An Indian commonwealth. <br /> <br />A goblet next I'll drink <br />To Ovid; and suppose <br />Made he the pledge, he'd think <br />The world had all one nose. <br /> <br />Then this immensive cup <br />Of aromatic wine, <br />Catullus! I quaff up <br />To that terse muse of thine. <br /> <br />Wild I am now with heat: <br />O Bacchus! cool thy rays; <br />Or frantic I shall eat <br />Thy Thyrse, and bite the Bays! <br /> <br />Round, round, the roof does run; <br />And being ravish'd thus, <br />Come, I will drink a tun <br />To my Propertius. <br /> <br />Now, to Tibullus next, <br />This flood I drink to thee; <br />--But stay, I see a text, <br />That this presents to me. <br /> <br />Behold! Tibullus lies <br />Here burnt, whose small return <br />Of ashes scarce suffice <br />To fill a little urn. <br /> <br />Trust to good verses then; <br />They only will aspire, <br />When pyramids, as men, <br />Are lost i' th' funeral fire. <br /> <br />And when all bodies meet <br />In Lethe to be drown'd; <br />Then only numbers sweet <br />With endless life are crown'd.<br /><br />Robert Herrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-live-merrily-and-to-trust-to-good-verses-2/
