Not all thy flushing suns are set, br Herrick, as yet ; br Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere br Frown and look sullen ev'rywhere. br Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest br As dead within the west ; br Yet, the next morn, regild the fragrant east. br br Alas ! for me, that I have lost br E'en all almost ; br Sunk is my sight, set is my sun, br And all the loom of life undone : br The staff, the elm, the prop, the shelt'ring wall br Whereon my vine did crawl, br Now, now blown down ; needs must the old stock fall. br br Yet, Porter, while thou keep'st alive, br In death I thrive : br And like a phoenix re-aspire br From out my nard and fun'ral fire ; br And as I prune my feathered youth, so I br Do mar'l how I could die br When I had thee, my chief preserver, by. br br I'm up, I'm up, and bless that hand br Which makes me stand br Now as I do, and but for thee br I must confess I could not be. br The debt is paid ; for he who doth resign br Thanks to the gen'rous vine br Invites fresh grapes to fill his press with wine.