2 min read
Слушать(AI)The Haymakers’ Song
RE’S to him that grows it, Drink, lads, drink! That lays it in and mows it, Clink, jugs, clink! To him that mows and makes it, That scatters it and shakes it, That turns, and teds, and rakes it, Clink, jugs, clink! Now here ’s to him that stacks it, Drink, lads, drink!
That thrashes and that tacks it, Clink, jugs, clink! That cuts it out for eating, When March-dropp’d lambs are bleating, And the slate-blue clouds are sleeting, Drink, lads, drink! And here ’s to thane and yeoman, Drink, lads, drink! To horseman and to bowman, Clink, jugs, clink!
To lofty and to low man, Who bears a grudge to no man, But flinches from no foeman, Drink, lads, drink!
Alfred Austin
Alfred Austin DL (30 May 1835 – 2 June 1913) was an English poet who was appointed Poet Laureate in 1896, after an interval following the death
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
The Human Tragedy ACT II
Personages: Olympia— Godfrid— Gilbert— Olive Protagonists: Love— Religion Place: Spiaggiascura—Milan—Florence
In Praise Of England
From tangled brake and trellised bower Bring every bud that blows, But never will you find the flower To match an English rose It blooms with more than city grace, Though rustic and apart;
The Golden Age
Long ere the Muse the strenuous chords had swept, And the first lay as yet in silence slept, A Time there was which since has stirred the lyre To notes of wail and accents warm with fire; Moved the soft Mantuan to his silvery strain,
John Everett Millais
Now let no passing—bell be tolled, Wail now no dirge of gloom; Nor around purple pall unfold The trappings of the tomb Dead
