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A Satisfactory Reform
A merry burgomaster
In a burgh upon the Rhine
Said, 'Our burghers all are
Far too fond of drinking wine.'
So the merry burgomaster,
When the burgomasters met,
Bade them look into the matter
Ere the thing went farther yet.
And the merry burgomasters
Did decide the only way
To alleviate the evil
Without worry or delay
Would be just to call a meeting
Of the burghers, great and small,
And then open every wine cask
And proceed to drink it all.
'For,' they said, 'when we have swallowed
Every drop that’s in the land,
There can be no more of drinking,
It is plain to understand.'
So they called a monster meeting,
And the burghers, small and great,
Drank and drank until they were too
Tipsy to perambulate.
But there still was wine in plenty,
So, in sooth, the only way
Was to call another meeting;
So they called it for next day.
Thus from day to day the burghers
Met and swallowed seas of wine,
And they vowed the reformation
Was a mission quite divine.
And today the worthy burghers
In that burgh upon the Rhine
Still continue their great mission,
And still swallow seas of wine.
And they vow they will not falter
In their great reforming task
Till the last drop has been emptied
From the very last wine cask.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mariner
he violet scent is sacred
Like dreams of angels bright;
The hawthorn smells of passion
Told in a moonless night.
But the smell is in my nostrils,
Through blossoms red or gold,
Of my own green flower unfading,
A bitter smell and bold.
The lily smells of pardon,
The rose of mirth; but mine
Smells shrewd of death and honour,
And the doom of Adam's line.
The heavy scent of wine-shops
Floats as I pass them by,
But never a cup I quaff from,
And never a house have I.
Till dropped down forty fathoms,
I lie eternally;
And drink from God's own goblet
The green wine of the sea.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The cask can give no other wine that that it contains.
A lord without land, is like a cask without wine.
When the wine runs to waste in the cellar, he mends the cask.
When the cook is roasting for the butler, woe to the master's wine-cask.
A cask of wine works more miracles than a church full of saints.
Wine (Love Poem)
Wine is for laughing
Wine is for talking all night
Wine is for living life out loud
Wine is for making us beautiful
Wine is for all-night conversations
Wine is for getting together again
Wine is for ‘never again’ tomorrow
Wine is for sleeping like a baby
Wine is for telling the truth
Wine is food for love
Wine is friendship
Wine is fresh
Wine
Can
Be
The
One
Perfe ct
Companion
At the end of a long day
poem by Ian Beckett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As a good wine must be kept in a good cask, so a wholesome body is the proper foundation for a well-appointed inner ground.
quote by Johannes Tauler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Amontillado
Amontillado
Fortunato, I am called.
My friends rate me a connoisseur.
Tonight I wear a jester’s garb
for the feast day of misrule.
Tonight is fine, the wine flows free
With honeyed sweetness on my lips
My headgear rings with happiness
as I enjoy another sip..
Montresor came to speak with me
He wore a mask and monkish gown.
I shook the hand he offered me.
We spoke about a cask of wine.
A cask of sherry, dark and sweet
Amontillado- so he claimed
My friend had paid a premium.
Wished me to judge and share his gain.
He thought he’d ask Luchresi’s help
But that man is no judge of wine.
Give him grape juice in a cup
And Luchresi would exclaim “How fine”
I took his arm and off we went,
Not knowing how this night would end.
I went quite willing to my doom
with this fiend I thought a friend.
Montressor’s servants were away
Leaving he and I alone
He poured for me a warming glass
then led me to the catacombs.
We sampled others of his wines
to keep the cold and damp away.
I coughed and could not catch my breath.
But from my goal could not be swayed.
In the darkness of the tombs
Among Montressor’s ancestral bones
He victimized my drunkenness
I found myself chained to the stones.
I quickly learned it was no jest
I screamed in vain- none heard my cry
As he with brick and mortar built
this prison tomb where I will die..
poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Cask Of Amontillado
The cask of amontillado
Lead vocal: john miles
By the last breath of the four winds that blow
Ill have revenge upon fortunato
Smile in his face Ill say come let us go
Ive a cask of amontillado
Sheltered inside from the cold of the snow
Follow me now to the vault down below
Drinking the wine as we laugh at the time
Which is passing incredibly slow
(what are these chains that are binding my arm)
Part of you dies each passing day
(say its a game and Ill come to no harm)
Youll feel your life slipping away
You who are rich and whose troubles are few
May come around to see my point of view
What price the crown of a king on his throne
When youre chained in the dark all alone
(spare me my life only name your reward)
Part of you dies each brick I lay
(bring back some light in the name of the lord)
Youll feel your mind slipping away
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To-Em-Meps ‘The Unmoving Cloud
I
The clouds have gathered, and gathered,
and the rain falls and falls,
The eight ply of the heavens
are all folded into one darkness,
And the wide, flat road stretches out.
I stop in my room toward the East, quiet, quiet,
I pat my new cask of wine.
My friends are estranged, or far distant,
I bow my head and stand still.
II
Rain, rain, and the clouds have gathered,
The eight ply of the heavens are darkness,
The flat land is turned into river.
'Wine, wine, here is wine!'
I drink by my eastern window.
I think of talking and man,
And no boat, no carriage, approaches.
III
The trees in my east-looking garden
are bursting out with new twigs,
They try to stir new affection,
And men say the sun and moon keep on moving
because they can't find a soft seat.
The birds flutter to rest in my tree,
and I think I have heard them saying,
'It is not that there are no other men
But we like this fellow the best,
But however we long to speak
He can not know of our sorrow.'
poem by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cast away care
Cast away care; he that loves sorrow
Lengthens not a day, nor can buy to-morrow ;
Money is trash, and he that will spend it,
Let him drink merrily, fortune will send it.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, oh, ho !
Play it off stiffly, we may not part so.
Wine is a charm, it heats the blood too,
Cowards it will arm, if the wine be good too ;
Quickens the wit, and makes the back able,
Scorns to submit to the watch or constable.
Merrily, &c.
Pots fly about, give us more liquor,
Brothers of a rout, our brains will flow quicker ;
Empty the cask, score up, we care not ;
Fill all the pots again, drink on, and spare not.
Merrily, &c.
poem by Thomas Dekker
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The girl is more inviting who smells of wild thyme than she who smells of musk.
After-Sensations
WHEN the vine again is blowing,
Then the wine moves in the cask;
When the rose again is glowing,
Wherefore should I feel oppress'd?
Down my cheeks run tears all-burning,
If I do, or leave my task;
I but feel a speechless yearning,
That pervades my inmost breast.
But at length I see the reason,
When the question I would ask:
'Twas in such a beauteous season,
Doris glowed to make me blest!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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