Wreath the Bowl

Thomas Moore 1779 (Dublin) – 1852 (Bromham)



Wreath the bowl
With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us,
We'll take a flight
Towards heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us.
Should Love amid
The wreaths be hid
That Joy, the enchanter, brings us,
No danger fear,
While wine is near --
We'll drown him if he stings us.
Then, wreath the bowl
With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us.
We'll take a flight
Towards heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us.

'Twas nectar fed
Of old, 'tis said,
Their Junos, Joves, Apollos,
And man may brew
His nectar too,
The rich receipt's as follows:
Take wine like this,
Let looks of bliss
Around it well be blended,
Then bring Wit's beam
To warm the stream,
And there's your nectar, splendid!
So, wreath the bowl,
With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us,
We'll take a flight
Towards heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us.

Say, why did Time
His glass sublime
Fill up with sands unsightly,
When wine, he knew,
Runs brisker through,
And sparkles far more brightly?
Oh, lend it us,
And, smiling thus,
The glass in two we'll sever,
Make pleasure glide
In double tide,
And fill both ends for ever!
Then, wreath the bowl
With flowers of soul
The brightest Wit can find us;
We'll take a flight
Towards heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

1:13 min read
49

Quick analysis:

Scheme aABCCBddbeebAABCCB ffbggxhhijjiaABCCB kklgglbbmnnmAABCCB
Closest metre Iambic trimeter
Characters 1,293
Words 235
Stanzas 3
Stanza Lengths 18, 18, 18

Thomas Moore

Thomas Moore was an Irish poet singer songwriter and entertainer now best remembered for the lyrics of The Minstrel Boy and the The Last Rose of Summer more…

All Thomas Moore poems | Thomas Moore Books

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