Poetry Archives

How cool and fair this cellar where
    My throne a dusky cask is;
To do no thing but just to sing
    And drown the time my task is.
        The cooper he’s
        Resolved to please,
And, answering to my winking,
        He fills me up
        Cup after cup
For drinking, drinking, drinking.

        Begrudge me not
        This cosy spot
In which I am reclining—
        Why, who would burst
        With envious thirst,
When he can live by wining.
A roseate hue seems to imbue
    The world on which I’m blinking;
My fellow-men—I love them when
I’m drinking, drinking, drinking.

And yet I think, the more I drink,
    It’s more and more I pine for—
Oh, such as I (forever dry)
    God made this land of Rhine for;
      And there is bliss
      In knowing this,
As to the floor I’m sinking:
      I’ve wronged no man
      And never can
While drinking, drinking, drinking.