The Roasting Of Lydia
By Eugene Field
No more your needed rest at night By ribald youth is troubled; No more your windows, fastened tight, Yield to their knocks redoubled. No longer you may hear them cry, "Why art thou, Lydia, lying In heavy sleep till morn is nigh, While I, your love, am dying?" Grown old and faded, you bewail The rake's insulting sally, While round your home the Thracian gale Storms through the lonely alley. What furious thoughts will fill your breast, What passions, fierce and tinglish (Cannot be properly expressed In calm, reposeful English). Learn this, and hold your carping tongue: Youth will be found rejoicing In ivy green and myrtle young, The praise of fresh life voicing; And not content to dedicate, With much protesting shiver, The sapless leaves to winter's mate, Hebrus, the cold dark river.
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"No more your needed rest at night..."
"The Roasting Of Lydia" is a quintessential example of Eugene Field's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...
