Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume II. Love. 1904. | | | | V. Cautions and Complaints | | To Chloe | | John Wolcot (Peter Pindar) (1738–1819) |
| | An Apology for Going into the Country
CHLOE, we must not always be in heaven, | |
| Forever toying, ogling, kissing, billing; | |
| The joys for which I thousands would have given, | |
| Will presently be scarcely worth a shilling. | |
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| Thy neck is fairer than the Alpine snows, | 5 |
| And, sweetly swelling, beats the down of doves; | |
| Thy cheek of health, a rival to the rose; | |
| Thy pouting lips, the throne of all the loves; | |
| Yet, though thus beautiful beyond expression, | |
| That beauty fadeth by too much possession. | 10 |
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| Economy in love is peace to nature, | |
| Much like economy in worldly matter; | |
| We should be prudent, never live too fast; | |
| Profusion will not, cannot always last. | |
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| Lovers are really spendthrifts,—’t is a shame,— | 15 |
| Nothing their thoughtless, wild career can tame, | |
| Till penury stares them in the face; | |
| And when they find an empty purse, | |
| |
| Grown calmer, wiser, how the fault they curse, | |
| And, limping, look with such a sneaking grace! | 20 |
| Job’s war-horse fierce, his neck with thunder hung, | |
| Sunk to an humble hack that carries dung. | |
| |
| Smell to the queen of flowers, the fragrant rose— | |
| Smell twenty times—and then, my dear, thy nose | |
| Will tell thee (not so much for scent athirst) | 25 |
| The twentieth drank less flavor than the first. | |
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| Love, doubtless, is the sweetest of all fellows; | |
| Yet often should the little god retire. | |
| Absence, dear Chloe, is a pair of bellows, | |
| That keeps alive the sacred fire. | 30 | | | |
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