En.Citatepedia^®.ro

In The Harbour: The Wine Of Jurançon. (From The French Of Charles Coran)

Little sweet wine of Jurançon,
You are dear to my memory still!
With mine host and his merry song,
Under the rose-tree I drank my fill.

Twenty years after, passing that way,
Under the trellis I found again
Mine host, still sitting there au frais,
And singing still the same refrain.

The Jurançon, so fresh and bold,
Treats me as one it used to know;
Souvenirs of the days of old
Already from the bottle flow,

With glass in hand our glances met;
We pledge, we drink. How sour it is
Never Argenteuil piquette
Was to my palate sour as this!

And yet the vintage was good, in sooth;
The self-same juice, the self-same cask!
It was you, O gayety of my youth,
That failed in the autumnal flask!

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A toast

There's wine in the cup, Vancouver,
And there's warmth in my heart for you,
While I drink to your health, your youth, and your wealth,
And the things that you yet will do.
In a vintage rare and olden,
With a flavour fine and keen,
Fill the glass to the edge, while I stand up to pledge
My faith to my western queen.

Then here's a Ho! Vancouver, in wine of the bonniest hue,
With a hand on my hip and the cup at my lip,
And a love in my life for you.
For you are a jolly good fellow, with a great, big heart, I know;
So I drink this toast
To the "Queen of the Coast."
Vancouver, here's a Ho!

And here's to the days that are coming,
And here's to the days that are gone,
And here's to your gold and your spirit bold,
And your luck that has held its own;
And here's to your hands so sturdy,
And here's to your hearts so true,
And here's to the speed of the day decreed
That brings me again to you.

Then here's a Ho! Vancouver, in wine of the bonniest hue,
With a hand on my hip and the cup at my lip,
And a love in my life for you.
For you are a jolly good fellow, with a great, big heart, I know;
So I drink this toast
To the "Queen of the Coast."
Vancouver, here's a Ho!

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Bottom Of The Glass

You think that you have found a way to ease your troubled mind
You fill a glass, then drink it down and fill it one more time
Well, the wine will flow and the pain will go but the spell will never last
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Well, the bottom of the glass is just as empty as your life
You know it holds no secret way to help you in your strife
But for a while youre in another world and you wake up in the past
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
...glass
That bottle there is not your friend when its gone it leaves you cold
The strength it gives you slips away for its something you cant hold
Your hands will shanke and then youll take another from the flask
But youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass

song performed by by Whiskeytown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Bottom Of The Glass

You think that you have found a way to ease your troubled mind
You fill a glass, then drink it down and fill it one more time
Well, the wine will flow and the pain will go but the spell will never last
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Well, the bottom of the glass is just as empty as your life
You know it holds no secret way to help you in your strife
But for a while youre in another world and you wake up in the past
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
...glass
That bottle there is not your friend when its gone it leaves you cold
The strength it gives you slips away for its something you cant hold
Your hands will shanke and then youll take another from the flask
But youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass
Youll never find the answer in the bottom of the glass

song performed by by Whiskeytown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

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
Vote! | Copy!

The Proposal

Now, pledge to me your love so sweet
And I will do the same with mine
My mind could never soon forget
Just what my heart came to enshrine

Now, cast a glance upon my face
Just so your eyes would meet with mine
Your soul came wafting in like breeze
Like spirits from a cask of wine

Now, leave your touch upon my cheeks
As tender as a kiss divine
Or hug me with a warmth that peaks
At times that our arms entwine

Now, rest your hand on top of mine
Your fingers curled as though a vine
Just like your life you chose to spend
Along with mine as hearts could blend.
.

poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Old Friends Of Mine

The songs they were singing from the golden days of our spring. When laughter rang out from those old friend of mine.

Where have they gone in the passing of time, and where are they now those old friends of mine.

The years have clouded the memories of them. The grey hairs are showing, how long has it been?

Oh where did they go? The friends of my youth. The flames of a young life and the passions we knew.

The days are shorter. Life still goes on. Our children are playing like we used to do.

Will they remember the friends of their youth when they get our age in their September song?

Oh where have they now those old friends of mine?

31 Dec 1995

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

So You Don't Like The Sour Man?

so, here you are again, feeling sorry for the sour man
the one who does not know how to stretch his face
to make a smile
the one consumed by the ghosts of his own worries
that never came
the one who stays in the nook
afraid,
you do not like this sour man
scared, not easy to handle, expensive
to the pocket
you do not find him
a good company to your sports
laughter
and happy-go-lucky
merry, merry, merry,
round and round
telling people hey life is short why not just enjoy every minute of it
savor the moments
lick every sweet dropp of life like honey to your finger

finger licking good
till the last dropp till the supply lasts
take today, today, today, why worry about tomorrow

oh, you do not like the sour man
and you are angry at him

well, it is sad, the sour man has conquered you.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The three tailors

I shall tell you in rhyme how, once on a time,
Three tailors tramped up to the inn Ingleheim,
On the Rhine, lovely Rhine;
They were broke, but the worst of it all, they were curst
With that malady common to tailors--a thirst
For wine, lots of wine.

"Sweet host," quoth the three, "we're hard up as can be,
Yet skilled in the practice of cunning are we,
On the Rhine, genial Rhine;
And we pledge you we will impart you that skill
Right quickly and fully, providing you'll fill
Us with wine, cooling wine."

But that host shook his head, and he warily said:
"Though cunning be good, we take money instead,
On the Rhine, thrifty Rhine;
If ye fancy ye may without pelf have your way
You'll find that there's both host and the devil to pay
For your wine, costly wine."

Then the first knavish wight took his needle so bright
And threaded its eye with a wee ray of light
From the Rhine, sunny Rhine;
And, in such a deft way, patched a mirror that day
That where it was mended no expert could say--
Done so fine 't was for wine.

The second thereat spied a poor little gnat
Go toiling along on his nose broad and flat
Towards the Rhine, pleasant Rhine;
"Aha, tiny friend, I should hate to offend,
But your stockings need darning"--which same did he mend,
All for wine, soothing wine.

And next there occurred what you'll deem quite absurd--
His needle a space in the wall thrust the third,
By the Rhine, wondrous Rhine;
And then all so spry, he leapt through the eye
Of that thin cambric needle--nay, think you I'd lie
About wine--not for wine.

The landlord allowed (with a smile) he was proud
To do the fair thing by that talented crowd
On the Rhine, generous Rhine.
So a thimble filled he as full as could be--
"Drink long and drink hearty, my jolly friends three,
Of my wine, filling wine."

poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Sour Lemon Tree

A sour lemon tree flower attracts the bee
While its fruit is bitter not so its flower
White is its flower sweet and very pretty
Only the fruit is bitter and that's just a pity
As the beauty of its flower resist not a bee
It's the simple truth
Or see the sour lemon tree

With fruit that is bitter bears a lemon tree
But useful is its fruit good for everyday use
Once said a bee... your flower is very sweet
It carries fragrance scented out in the street
Yet bears you fruit bitter no one wants to eat
It's partly the truth
Or see the sour lemon tree

A citrus tree with fruit no other tree bears
Then out of the tree came a nice neat voice
'Twas like a voice of one who's very wise
This is what it said trees are not so free
One made a decree for every bearing tree
It's partly the truth
Or see the sour lemon tree

The Creator decides the fruit a tree bears
Whether it be bitter or whether it be sweet
The Creator decrees for every bearing tree
To bring forth fruit ordained for it to bear
Then sweet or bitter bears a tree its fruit
It's the simple truth
Or see the sour lemon tree.

poem by Clarence Prince
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Beauty of Nature

I went to the garden and drank some ale
And heard the wailing of the nightingale

Blooming there also was a beautiful rose
But, unlike the birds, it had no woes

It looked so happy, so vigorous, so proud
Standing alone and above the crowd.

The narcissus also was looking very grand,
Had a tulip in waiting with a cup in hand

The iris there also lashing its tongue
Scolding them all, whether old or young,

And holding a flask was there a lass
Pouring red wine in everyone's glass

And there was Hafiz singing his song
Telling us to come and sing along.

By Hafiz

poem by Lawrence Hiung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sunlight on the Sea

[The Philosophy of a Feast]

Make merry, comrades, eat and drink
(The sunlight flickers on the sea),
The garlands gleam, the glasses clink,
The grape juice mantles fair and free,
The lamps are trimm'd, although the light
Of day still lingers on the sky ;
We sit between the day and night,
And push the wine-flask merrily
I see you feasting round me still,
All gay of heart and strong of limb ;
Make merry, friends, your glasses fill,
The lights are growing dim.

I miss the voice of one I've heard
(The sunlight sinks upon the sea),
He sang as blythe as any bird,
And shook the rafters with his glee ;
But times have changed with him, I wot,
By fickle fortune cross'd and flung ;
Far stouter heart than mine he's got
If now he sings as then he sung.
Yet some must swim when others sink,
And some must sink when others swim ;
Make merry, comrades, eat and drink,
The lights are growing dim.

I miss the face of one I've loved—
(The sunlight settles on the sea ;)
Long since to distant climes he roved ;
He had his faults, and so have we ;
His name was mentioned here this day,
And it was coupled with a sneer ;
I heard, nor had I aught to say,
Though once I held his memory dear.
Who cares, 'mid wines and fruits and flowers,
Though death or danger compass him,
He had his faults, and we have ours,
The lights are growing dim.

I miss the form of one I know—
(The sunlight wanes upon the sea)
'Tis not so very long ago ;
We drank his health with three-times-three,
And we were gay when he was here ;
And he is gone, and we are gay.
Where has he gone ? or far or near ?
Good sooth, 'twere somewhat hard to say.
You glance aside, you doubtless think
My homily a foolish whim,
'Twill soon be ended, eat and drink,
The lights are growing dim.

The fruit is ripe, the wine is red ;
(The sunlight fades upon the sea.)
To us the absent are the dead,
The dead to us must absent be.
We, too, the absent ranks must joinn ;
And friends will censure and forget :
There's metal base in every coin ;
Men vanish, leaving traces yet
Of evil and of good behind,
Since false notes taint the skylark's hymn,
And dross still lurks in gold refined—
The lights are growing dim.

We eat and drink or ere we die,
(The sunlight flushes on the sea.)
Three hundred soldiers feasted high
An hour before Thermopylae ;
Leonidas pour'd out the wine,
And shouted ere he drain'd the cup,
'Ho ! comrades, let us gaily dine—
This night with Pluto we shall sup ;'
And if they leant upon a reed,
And if their reed was slight and slim,
There's something good in Spartan creed—
The lights are growing dim.

Make merry, comrades, eat and drink,
(The sunlight flashes on the sea ;)
My spirit is rejoiced to think
That even as they were so are we ;
For they, like us, were mortals vain,
The slaves to earthly passions wild,
Who slept with heaps of Persians slain
For winding-sheets around them piled.
The dead man's deeds are living still—
My Festive speech is somewhat grim—
Their good obliterates their ill—
The lights are growing dim.

We eat and drink, we come and go,
(The sunlight dies upon the open sea.)
I speak in riddles. Is it so ?
My riddles need not mar your glee ;
For I will neither bid you share
My thoughts, nor will I bid you shun,
Though I should see in yonder chair
Th' Egyptian's muffled skeleton.
One toast with me, your glasses fill,
Aye, fill them level with the brim,
De mortuis, nisi bonum, nil!
The lights are growing dim.

poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Pour Me A Glass

Once upon a time I was sitting by,
A bottle of wine and all I knew was i,
I was gonna sip it down in a little while,
I drink it glass for glass but theres no reason why,
The bottle of wine has a taste so fine,
It makes feel good, it makes me blow my mind,
I cannot stop pour me another glass,
I would if I could, but now I need it fast,
I lost my friends, nobody holds my hand,
Like a lonley stranger in a long lost land,
I felt the feelings no one ever has,
Bartender, pour me a glass!
Chorus:
Pour me a glass, pour me a glass of a bottle wine...
Im drinking, Im not drinking, I cant tell you why,
How it started, how it ends but I do deny,
That I wanna ruin my life but now I wanna dive,
Into the silent ocean where there is no cry,
For hope, for me that I cannot see,
But if I faced the facts and go inside of me,
I would see myself, my own reality,
I would see myself, my own insanity,
Scared to move another step ahead,
I would lose the strength so I will fast forget,
What I do to myself, why dont you take a guess,
Bartender, pour me a glass!
Chorus...

song performed by by H-BlockX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

In a Wine Cellar

SEE how it flashes,
This grape-blood fine!—
Our beards it splashes,
O comrade mine!—
Life dust and ashes
Were, wanting wine.
Amontillado
Fires heart and eyes;
Champagne the shadow
Of care defies;
An El Dorado
In Rhine-wine lies;

Port has the mintage
Of generous deeds;
Tokay scorns stintage
And richly bleeds;
But this great vintage
The Wine-March leads.

Yet it is wanting
In poesy;
No legends haunting
Its vassals be,
No tales enchanting
Of chivalry.

Spain’s grape hath stories;
Its blood the bold
Conquistadores
Drank deep of old—
A wine of glories,
A wine of gold.

Who drinks not sparing,
Beholdeth he
The great Cid bearing
His banner free,
Columbus daring
The unknown Sea,

And, haply biding,
In this dream-Spain,
Don Quixote riding
Across the plain,
His squire confiding
Beside his rein.

The wine of France is
Aglow to-day
With flash of lances,
With feast and fray,
And dark-eyed glances
Of ladies gay.

See where together,
A flagon near,
Lie hat with feather,
And long rapier—
Fine courting weather,
O Cavalier!

Bright Rhenish, gleaming
Moon-white! Perchance
Thy wave clear beaming
Still guards Romance,
Not dead, but dreaming
In spell-bound trance!

Not in Rhine-water,
But Rhine-wine fair
Sir Rupert sought her
(As bards declare)
The Rhine King’s daughter
With golden hair.

Still ’neath its smiling
Wave’s amber rings,
Men sweetly wiling
From earthly things,
Her song beguiling
The Loreley sings.

Your cup, wild siren,
That Deutschland drains—
Her heart of iron
Moved by your strains—
No blood shall fire in
Australian veins;

Nor yours whose charm is
Your topaz eyne,
Nor yours whose armies
In gold caps shine,
Shall charm or harm us—
Eh, comrade mine?

No vintage alien
For thee or me!
Our fount Castalian
Of poesy
Shall wine Australian,
None other be.

Then place your hand in
This hand of mine,
And while we stand in
Her brave sunshine
Pledge deep our land in
Our land’s own wine.

It has no glamour
Of old romance,
Of war and amour
In Spain or France;
Its poets stammer
As yet, perchance;

But he may wholly
Become a seer
Who quaffs it slowly;
For he shall hear,
Though faintly, lowly,
Yet sweet and clear,

The axes ringing
On mountain sides,
The wool-boats swinging
Down Darling tides,
The drovers singing
Where Clancy rides,

The miners driving,
The stockman’s strife;
All sounds conniving
To tell the rife,
Rich, rude, strong-striving
Australian life.

Once more your hand in
This hand of mine!
And while we stand in
The brave sunshine,
Pledge deep our land in
Our land’s own wine!

poem by Victor James Daley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Yesterdays

Jerome kern / otto harbach
Yesterdays
Days are new as happy sweet
Sequestered days
Olden days
Golden days
Days of mad romance and love
Them gay youth was mine
Truth was mine
Join us be in flame and live
Then sooth was mine
Sad and mired
Glad and mired
For today Im dreamin of
Yesterdays

song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

an unhappy childhood of this man who names himself 'I'.....

i've seen this picture of you
on that far corner of the world

land of snow and you are inside that very thick
winter clothes

there is that smile in your face
and i am taking a closer look

it is sour.

i know what sour is. I've been one for forty years
wearing that

sour smile, and i have many reasons why a smile must be sour
for forty years

the reasons are sour
very sour

beyond those tastes of a hundred green lemons

or a green mango with some disturbing gums on its mouth

i burned all my pictures in college
except those when i was yet a boy beside my mama and our white dog

i was in grade one and i did not like school and mama forced me into it

i was selling chocolates and i ate them all and mama was mad at me and beat me with a stick

papa did not like me reading books as he does not know how to read

i climb trees and hide on the leaves and read stories
in our dialect and draw some pictures of women without their dresses on

you see i still have this picture of myself riding a carabao and hauling some wood and coconut palms

i take a close look of my own smile, It is very sour
and it tastes like yours, but perhaps mine is the worst

but i am happy now, i know how to suppress sour smiles, i know how to manage and project myself

i smile like a cow now, and laugh like a horse
because all of them are dead.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

(It Was) A Very Good Year.

My minds image of my Ellen
Is like a rose preserved from time.
Or like a treasured bottle
from a vintage year for wine.

I am haunted by her memory-
How our fingers intertwined.
The fragrance of her body
as I held it close to mine.

I was Mars and you were Venus
your head rested on my chest.
A summer rain began to fall
persuading us to dress.

Now just the shadow of your smile
Brings tears to a dry place.
Funny how my heart can race
Within the ghost of your embrace.
.

You are unchanging, therefore perfect
Your aspect is divine.
I believe our year was vintage-
for love, if not for wine.

(Fifth poem in the Ellen cycle, A summer picnic at Planting Fields, Arboretum in 1979. It was a picnic, marked by a brief rain, where we shared a bottle of Mouton Rothschild)
.

poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Winston Churchill My Kind Of Host

Let us party with Winnie
Winston Churchill.
Perhaps we might partake
of brandy and cigars?

I rather liked the wine tipped
rum flavoured cigars as a lad.

Winnie is my kind of host
Champagne Pol Roger.
Winnie offers guests unlimited
Champagne, Cigars and Brandy.

Champagne chilled a little please
room temperature simply appalls.

Champagne in the refrigerator
an hour and a half before serving please.
Or into the ice bucket with a suitable
ice-water mixture, at least twenty minutes,
before serving really if you please.

Ah a nice vintage-dated Champagne
a high-quality bubbly, let the bottle then,
warm up we don’t want to miss out on,
mature character of seasoned Champagne.

An awful lot of character, particularly
with respect to aroma can be lost,
when wine is served a little too cold,
a little too warm don’t you think?

Champagne and dry white wines of quality,
are best served at a temperature,
between 8ºC and 10ºC perhaps a little higher?

Perhaps you would care for
a Churchill Martini mixed?
Shake gin with cracked ice,
strain into chilled cocktail
glass, & garnish with olive.

Winnie rather likes to drink it while
looking at a bottle of dry vermouth.

Perhaps a Highball then Sir?
Winnie prefers just whiskey & water.
In Africa Winnie adds whiskey,
to make unsavory horrid water potable.

Yes of course Hine Brandy an excellent choice.
Distilled. As Winnie always says.
'I have taken more from brandy than brandy
has taken from me.' A health elixir!

Simply superb Johnnie
Walker Red Scotch.
Winnie is a good friend
of Sir Alexander Walker.

Yes Winnie is my kind of host. Winnie
truly is the epitome of a great man.

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Summer in Calcutta

What is this drink but
The April sun, squeezed
Like an orange in
My glass? I sip the
Fire, I drink and drink
Again, I am drunk
Yes, but on the gold
of suns, What noble
venom now flows through
my veins and fills my
mind with unhurried
laughter? My worries
doze. Wee bubblesring
my glass, like a brides
nervous smile, and meet
my lips. Dear, forgive
this moments lull in
wanting you, the blur
in memory. How
brief the term of my
devotion, how brief
your reign when i with
glass in hand, drink, drink,
and drink again this
Juice of April suns.

poem by Kamala Das
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Tonight The Bottle Let Me Down

Tonight the bottle let me down
It let your memory come around
The one true friend I thought Id found
Tonight the bottle let me down
Ive always had a bottle I could turn to
And lately Ive been turnin every day
But the wine dont take effect the way it used to
And Im hurtin in old familiar ways
Tonight the bottle let me down
It let your memory come around
The one true friend I thought Id found
Tonight the bottle let me down
Each night I leave the bar room when its over
Not feeling any pain at closing time
But tonight your memory found me much too sober
I cant drink enough to keep you off my mind
Tonight the bottle let me down
It let your memory come around
The one true friend I thought Id found
Tonight the bottle let me down

song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

The Wine and Me

I asked the moon to drink with me tonight;
he just gave me a heavy sigh,
as though he heard that plea from me
a thousand times before.
Morning after morning, I don't see the sun;
that was after the day you were gone.
I filled my cup with wine,
the sounds of it seems music to my ears.
I wish to fade as you fade
with the passing years.
Every gulp of it brings the memory
when you were here by my side.
'You'll be back' - a sentimental lie.
My cup was empty and i filled it again.
Only now, the tears flowed like rain.
'You did want me' - another lie.
And i drink with my shadow
as the time passes by.
I was slowly consumed, like fire down a candle;
like drops of water flowing like a passing river.
The taste of wine on my lips
seems so sweet...I drank again.
'You miss me'- a sweeter lie.
I drank till the dawn is nigh.
I ask only to be drunk forever
and never wake...
to lie forgotten with the darkness;
to sleep forgotten in the depths of a lake.
'You did love me' - the sweetest lie.
I wish to fade as the years pass by.
But tonight, there's just this wine and me
forgotten with the wind.
With our endless torments,
with our bitter tears...
There's just this wine and me to let me forget you
and the sorrows of a thousand years.

poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!