Poetry Archives

“King Pandion, he is dead;
 All thy friends are lapp’d in lead.”
—SHAKESPEARE.


Dreamers, drinkers, rebel youth,
  Where’s the folly free and fine
You and I mistook for truth?
  Wits and wastrels, friends of wine,
  Wags and poets, friends of mine,
Gleams and glamors all are fled,
  Fires and frenzies half divine!
King Pandion, he is dead!

Time’s unmannerly, uncouth!
  Here’s the crow’s-foot for a sign!
And, upon our brows, forsooth,
  Wits and wastrels, friends of wine,
  Time hath set his mark malign;
Frost has touched us, heart and head,
  Cooled the blood and dulled the eyne:
King Pandion, he is dead!

Time’s a tyrant without ruth:—
  Fancies used to bloom and twine
Round a common tavern booth,
  Wits and wastrels, friends of wine,
  In that youth of mine and thine!
’Tis for youth the feast is spread;
  When we dine now—we but dine!—
King Pandion, he is dead!

How our dreams would glow and shine,
Wits and wastrels, friends of wine,
Ere the drab Hour came that said:
King Pandion, he is dead!