1815.-----YE'VE often, for our drunkenness,
I doubt not, in thy bosom.
Now speaks He, and His voice is thunder,He speaks, the rocks are rent in sunder,
The last am I,--the black and small,And fain would be right merry withal.I like to eat and to drink full measure,I eat and drink, and give thanks with pleasure.
Blooms sweet May;Sweetheart's roving,
1818.-----TO THE RISING FULL MOON.
But she looks on with careless eyes.I lick her soles, and kiss her shoes,
That night of love to thy mother!'"
V. Book of Gloom :--It is a Fault
Wetting his naked feet;As if his true love's words were those,
Hateful tones assail the ear.Laughter wild (exchange how mournful!)