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Robert Herrick - An Ode to Master Endymion Porter, Upon His Brother`s Death
Work rating: Medium

Not all thy flushing suns are set,
                           Herrick, as yet ;
       Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere
       Frown and look sullen ev`rywhere.
Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest
             As dead within the west ;
Yet, the next morn, regild the fragrant east.

       Alas ! for me, that I have lost
                           E`en all almost ;
       Sunk is my sight, set is my sun,
       And all the loom of life undone :
The staff, the elm, the prop, the shelt`ring wall
             Whereon my vine did crawl,
Now, now blown down ; needs must the old stock fall.

       Yet, Porter, while thou keep`st alive,
                           In death I thrive :
       And like a phoenix re-aspire
       From out my nard and fun`ral fire ;
And as I prune my feathered youth, so I
             Do mar`l how I could die
When I had thee, my chief preserver, by.

       I`m up, I`m up, and bless that hand
                           Which makes me stand
       Now as I do, and but for thee
       I must confess I could not be.
The debt is paid ; for he who doth resign
             Thanks to the gen`rous vine
Invites fresh grapes to fill his press with wine.
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