houstongirl200

Oh,thou thats wings upon the waving ear Of some well-filled oated beard, Drunk every night with delicious tear Dropt thee from heaven where thou wert reared The joys of earth and air are thine entire That with thy feet and wings dost hop fly, And when thy poppy work,thou dost retire, To thy carved acorn-bed to lie. Up with the Sun thou welcome'st then, Sport"st in the gilt plaits of his beams, And all merry days mak'st merry men, Thyself,and melancholy streams. But ah sickle! golden ears are cropped; Ceres and Bacchus bid good night: Sharp frosty fingers all your flowers topped, And scythes spared ,winds shave quite.