Guests

"Here's a health to thee and thine
From the hearts of me and mine;
And when thee and thine
Come to see me and mine,
May me and mine make thee and thine
As welcome as thee and thine
Have ever made me and mine."

Unknown

The identity of this poet is not known. Their works, which are often of significant historical or cultural value, have been attributed to 'Unknown'. This designation is commonly used when the creator of works, ranging from ancient texts to more modern writings, remains anonymous or uncredited. Despite the lack of personal details, the impact and importance of these works endure, offering insight into the eras and cultures from which they originated.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DCXIX. Relics.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Clown's Courtship, The

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. DCXXII. Relics.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CLXXXVII. Riddles.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Hosts

Here's to the host and the hostess,
    We're honored to be here tonight;
May they both live long and prosper,
    May their star of hope ever be bright.

Unknown

You

Here's to the world, the merry old world,
To its days both bright and blue;
Here's to our future, be it what it may,
And here's to my best - that's you!

Unknown

Table Song.

O'er me how I cannot say,

Heav'nly rapture's growing.
Will it help to guide my way

To yon stars all-glowing?
Yet that here I'd sooner be,

To assert I'm able,
Where, with wine and harmony,

I may thump the table.

Wonder not, my dearest friends,

What 'tis gives me pleasure;
For of all that earth e'er lends,

'Tis the sweetest treasure.
Therefore solemnly I swear,

With no reservation,
That maliciously I'll ne'er

Leave my present station.

Now that here we're gather'd round,

Chasing cares and slumbers,
Let, methought, the goblet sound

To the bard's glad numbers!
Many a hundred mile away,

Go those we love dearly;
Therefore let us here to-day

Make the ...

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Mine And Thine. From A Flemish Poem Of The Fourteenth Century.

Two words about the world we see,
And nought but Mine and Thine they be.
Ah! might we drive them forth and wide
With us should rest and peace abide;
All free, nought owned of goods and gear,
By men and women though it were.
Common to all all wheat and wine
Over the seas and up the Rhine.
No manslayer then the wide world o'er
When Mine and Thine are known no more.
Yea, God, well counselled for our health,
Gave all this fleeting earthly wealth
A common heritage to all,
That men might feed them therewithal,
And clothe their limbs and shoe their feet
And live a simple life and sweet.
But now so rageth greediness
That each desireth nothing less
Than all the world, and all his own;
And all for him and him alone.

William Morris

Mine Host

There stands a hostel by a travelled way;
Life is the road and Death the worthy host;
Each guest he greets, nor ever lacks to say,
"How have ye fared?"They answer him, the most,
"This lodging place is other than we sought;
We had intended farther, but the gloom
Came on apace, and found us ere we thought:
Yet will we lodge.Thou hast abundant room."

Within sit haggard men that speak no word,
No fire gleams their cheerful welcome shed;
No voice of fellowship or strife is heard
But silence of a multitude of dead.
"Naught can I offer ye," quoth Death, "but rest!"
And to his chamber leads each tired guest.

John McCrae

Mine Host

        There stands a hostel by a travelled way;
        Life is the road and Death the worthy host;
        Each guest he greets, nor ever lacks to say,
        "How have ye fared?"    They answer him, the most,
        "This lodging place is other than we sought;
        We had intended farther, but the gloom
        Came on apace, and found us ere we thought:
        Yet will we lodge.    Thou hast abundant room."

        Within sit haggard men that speak no word,
        No fire gleams their cheerful welcome shed;
        No voice of fellowship or strife is heard
        But silence of a multitude of dead.
        "Naught can I offer ye," quoth Death, "but rest!"
        And to his chamber leads each tired guest.

John McCrae