Ode For A Social Meeting
WITH SLIGHT ALTERATIONS BY A TEETOTALER--(...)
COME! fill a fresh bumper, for why should we go
While the nectar (logwood) still reddens our cups as they flow?
Pour out the rich juices (decoction) still bright with the sun,
Till o'er the brimmed crystal the rubies (dye-stuff) shall run.
The purple-globed clusters (half-ripened apples) their life-dews have
bled;
How sweet is the breath (taste) of the fragrance they shed!(sugar of
lead)
For summer's last roses (rank poisons) lie hid in the wines (wines!!!)
That were garnered by maidens who laughed through the vines (stable-boys
smoking long-nines)
Then a smile (scowl) and a glass (howl) and a toast (scoff) and a cheer
(sneer);
For all the good wine, and we 've some of it here! (strychnine and
whiskey, and ratsbane and beer!)
In cellar, in pantry, in attic, in hall,
Long live the gay servant that laughs for us all! (Down, down with the
tyrant that masters us all!)
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Related quotes
Don't Drink
Don't drink, boys, don't!
There is nothing of happiness, pleasure, or cheer,
In brandy, in whiskey, in rum, ale, or beer.
If they cheer you when drunk, you are certain to pay
In headaches and crossness the following day.
Don't drink, boys, don't!
Boys, let it alone!
Turn your back on your deadliest enemy-Drink!
An assassin disguised; nor for one moment think,
As some rashly say, that
true
women admire
The man who can boast that he's playing with fire.
Boys, let it alone!
No, boys, don't drink!
If the habit's begun, stop now! stop to-day!
Ere the spirit of thirst leads you on and away
Into vice, shame, and drunkenness. This is the goal,
Where the spirit of thirst leads the slave of the bowl.
No, boys,
don't
drink!
Boys, touch not, nor taste!
Don't think you can stop at the social 'First Glass.'
Too many have boasted that power, alas!
And found they were slaves to this seeming good friend,
And have grown into drunkards and knaves, in the end.
Boys, touch not, nor taste!
Don't drink, boys,
Don't
!
If the loafers and idlers scoff, never heed:
True men and true women will wish you 'God-speed.'
There is nothing of purity, pleasure, or cheer
To be gotten from whiskey, wine, brandy, or beer.
Don't drink, boys,
Don't
!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Summer Chimes and Summer Wines
Listening to the summer chimes,
Of summer sounds of summer time,
Bringing all that nature is,
That shows and sounds like,
Summer chimes,
Chimes of soft winds,
Chimes of soft river streams,
Sounds that say of that time and season,
That summer time sounds so sweet,
It rings the sounds of summer chimes,
With rays of sunlight streaming by,
Summer chimes with summer wines,
Can be the momentum interludes of summer times,
When summer time is to be,
There in natures places,
Full of bloom and hidden places,
Where,
Listening to the summer chimes,
Of summer time,
And sitting and drinking,
A summer wine,
With the summer chimes,
And summer wines,
With summer and its nature sounds,
Bringing out the musical chimes,
Of summer sounds,
Along with summer chance,
And the per chance that evolves,
Bringing summer chimes,
With summer wines,
Of true summer chance,
With love intwined,
And summer wine,
So if per chance,
To meet again,
That evolves and begins,
From summer meets,
Bringing that summer chance,
To summer chimes,
With summer wines,
That begins and lasts,
Within in the hearts of those,
That let per chance happen,
And fall in love,
Then it will continue all year long,
For those that took the chance,
In summer chance,
And let the per chance,
Take it course,
And win,
For love to hear,
The summer chimes,
Sipping summer wine.
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Contentment
If those who live in shepherd's bower,
Press not the rich and stately bed;
The new-mown hay and breathing flower
A softer couch beneath them spread.
If those who sit at shepherd's board,
Soothe not their taste by wanton art;
They take what Nature's gifts afford,
And take it with a cheerful heart.
If those who drain the shepherd's bowl,
No high and sparkling wines can boast;
With wholesome cups they cheer the soul,
And crown them with the village toast.
If those who join in shepherd's sport,
Gay dancing on the daisied ground,
Have not the splendour of a court;
Yet love adorns the merry round.
poem by James Thomson
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Anacreontics, The Epicure
UNDERNEATH this myrtle shade,
On flowerly beds supinely laid,
With odorous oils my head o'erflowing,
And around it roses growing,
What should I do but drink away
The heat and troubles of the day?
In this more than kingly state
Love himself on me shall wait.
Fill to me, Love! nay, fill it up!
And mingled cast into the cup
Wit and mirth and noble fires,
Vigorous health and gay desires.
The wheel of life no less will stay
In a smooth than rugged way:
Since it equally doth flee,
Let the motion pleasant be.
Why do we precious ointments shower?--
Nobler wines why do we pour?--
Beauteous flowers why do we spread
Upon the monuments of the dead?
Nothing they but dust can show,
Or bones that hasten to be so.
Crown me with roses while I live,
Now your wines and ointments give:
After death I nothing crave,
Let me alive my pleasures have:
All are Stoics in the grave.
poem by Abraham Cowley
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There are many great wine producers from all over the world making fantastic wines. Italian wines especially are making an enormous comeback after sometimes being labeled as inexpensive jug wines.
quote by Rocco DiSpirito
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Apple Tree Greed
he has an apple a green apple
he is the only person in this room
with a green apple
suppose suppose NOW
he has MORE of those at home
WHY he has a GREEN APPLE tree
In his backyard no WAIT
He has a vineyard behind his chapeau
And he makes green apple wine
And he sells it to the BOONES FARM people
And they make BOONES FARM green apple wine
And the whole city is soon sick
The children ralf and barf and ralf again
There is no more end to the men
Drinking all the green apple wine
To make this ONE person rich
He never offered me any of his wine
Eyes never drink of alcoholic beverage
Eye have juices and tea and a soda please
I'm just full of good intentions
Picking green apples in my mind and eating way too many
Having a green apple with mye lunch of poetical decay
WAIT he left and YES he took the green apple core with him
Not leaving me a bite not wanting me to taste the pleasure
of his mite. Why eye understand him greedy is his name
the green apple hoarder has so many apples now his wine cellar is so full and his larders aer so rich he does save the stems and seeds to plant again in ground so rich and he chews on this green apple while he watches MTV in selfish hedonistacal revenge while eye have no green apple stuck between my teeth OH bliss oh strang decay my teeth at least aer happier today he took the core away he left me all alone im appleless today im happier to say no song is being sung of little apples of the green variety been hung oh see the tree how big its grown the apples have been lost too long and they fall in misery from branches of decay to rot to rot to rot upon the vineyard floor there is no apple wine no more the green variety is gone they drink it only read and red is the color of the wine in cups so full of color there in plates so heaped of agony with applesauces vailiantly piled higher then the sky.
poem by Parme Hice
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Lazy
Sweet summer breeze
heavy ripe vines
wine pouring,
time slowly
seaward
flowing.
I write
like there's
nothing left
in my half-
empty glass.
now the wine's gone.
day's too warm
and much too
long.
poem by Steven Federle
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Dithyramb
Believe me, together
The bright gods come ever,
Still as of old;
Scarce see I Bacchus, the giver of joy,
Than comes up fair Eros, the laugh-loving boy,
And Phoebus, the stately, behold!
They come near and nearer,
The heavenly ones all--
The gods with their presence
Fill earth as their hall!
Say, how shall I welcome,
Human and earthborn,
Sons of the sky?
Pour out to me--pour the full life that ye live!
What to ye, O ye gods! can the mortal one give?
The joys can dwell only
In Jupiter's palace--
Brimmed bright with your nectar,
Oh, reach me the chalice!
"Hebe, the chalice
Fill full to the brim!
Steep his eyes--steep his eyes in the bath of the dew,
Let him dream, while the Styx is concealed from his view,
That the life of the gods is for him!"
It murmurs, it sparkles,
The fount of delight;
The bosom grows tranquil--
The eye becomes bright.
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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Invocation
Ha, ha, gods and kings; fill high, one and all;
Drink, drink! shout and drink! mad respond to
the call!
Fill fast, and fill full; 'gainst the goblet ne'er
sin;
Quaff there, at high tide, to the uttermost
rim:--
Flood-tide, and soul-tide to the brim!
Who with wine in him fears? who thinks of his
cares?
Who sighs to be wise, when wine in him flares?
Water sinks down below, in currents full slow;
But wine mounts on high with its genial glow:--
Welling up, till the brain overflow!
As the spheres, with a roll, some fiery of soul,
Others golden, with music, revolve round the
pole;
So let our cups, radiant with many hued wines,
Round and round in groups circle, our Zodiac's
Signs:--
Round reeling, and ringing their chimes!
Then drink, gods and kings; wine merriment
brings;
It bounds through the veins; there, jubilant
sings.
Let it ebb, then, and flow; wine never grows
dim;
Drain down that bright tide at the foam beaded
rim:--
Fill up, every cup, to the brim!
poem by Herman Melville
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Life's Hebe
IN the early morning-shine
Of a certain day divine,
I beheld a Maiden stand
With a pitcher in her hand;
Whence she poured into a cup
Until it was half filled up
Nectar that was golden light
In the cup of crystal bright.
And the first who took the cup
With pure water filled it up;
As he drank then, it was more
Ruddy golden than before:
And he leapt and danced and sang
As to Bacchic cymbals’ clang.
But the next who took the cup
With the red wine filled it up;
What he drank then was in hue
Of a heavy sombre blue:
First he reeled and then he crept,
Then lay faint but never slept.
And the next who took the cup
With the white milk filled it up;
What he drank at first seemed blood,
Then turned thick and brown as mud:
And he moved away as slow
As a weary ox may go.
But the next who took the cup
With sweet honey filled it up;
Nathless that which he did drink
Was thin fluid black as ink:
As he went he stumbled, soon,
And lay still in deathlike swoon.
She the while without a word
Unto all the cup preferred;
Blandly smiled and sweetly laughed
As each mingled his own draught.
And the next who took the cup
To the sunshine held it up,
Gave it back and did not taste;
It was empty when replaced:
First he bowed a reverent bow,
Then he kissed her on the brow.
But the next who took the cup
Without mixture drank it up;
When she took it back from him
It was full unto the brim:
He with a right bold embrace
Kissed her sweet lips face to face.
Then she sang with blithest cheer:
Who has thirst, come here, come here!
Nectar that is golden light
In the cup of crystal bright,
Nectar that is sunny fire
Warm as warmest heart’s desire:
Pitcher never lacketh more,
Arm is never tired to pour:
Honey, water, milk, or wine
Mingle with the draught divine,
Drink it pure, or drink it not;
Each is free to choose his lot:
Am I old? or am I cold?
Only two have kissed me bold!
She was young and fair and gay
As that young and glorious day.
poem by James Thomson
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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
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Scotch Is A Secret
If drunken is a verb, then death is one too,
For they both induce violence, and if not, radical truth.
If a last wistful breath is what's seen as a plea,
Then please, gentle secrecy; let me fall down to knee.
Whiskey is a worry, and vodka is a vice,
I may once taste sweet blissful beer, but only once or twice.
Preach for the obvious, the sacred; the life;
Hypocrite be an innocent; a daughter a wife.
Let us all hide our secrets, behind the worrisome wine,
Charming be the chardonnay, as we taste flask flat beer fine.
Let the priest sip clandestine champagne,
And let all be right with the world,
Let a liar be justified a fight,
And a mute have the option of word.
If all of this be true; and the alcohol stable a fire;
Then let scotch be kept my secret,
And I, a truthful liar.
poem by Dayna Mortimore
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Sugar
I'm yours
And you are here
Don't you
Really want to feel
That my love is turning on
And it feels so real
So tell me what's the deal yeah
I'm coming back
For more and more
You do it to me
'Till I can't take no more
And I know
That all of that real
Good lovin' is oh so real
And I want all your time
When I'm down here
Sugar dance for me
Sugar taste so sweet
Climb on and take the wheel
There's nothing here for you to fear
And my love won't lead you wrong
Let me make this clear
Sweeter and sweeter
I'll always make you feel
I'm coming home
I'm oh so low
I need you baby
Come on let's go
'Cause only you are my lover
And you're so sincere and fine
So divine
And you're all mine
Sugar caramel
Sugar and it taste so sweet
Sugar my fantasy
Sugar you were made for me
Hey sugar my fantasy
Sugar and it taste so sweet
Sugar my fantasy
Oh my sugar baby lovin' is so sweet to me
And it taste so sweet
Sugar you're my fantasy
Sugar on and on
Sugar
Say I want your baby
Want you lovin'
Say I want your baby
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Are You Gonna Go My Way
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life, Candle, and Wine
How much is too much a pain after pain,
In a tight fist can hold again and again;
On a prowling face, how long is too long,
For someone to suffer the agony of ageing;
Like a candle lives by the lit of its wick,
Slowly burning through dangers of wind,
Its soulful light will soon become weak,
To send scents of some kind to think;
A barrel of wine is sweeter when aged
To perfection in an excellent time;
To hold and wait is worth awhile
Of knowing how much is too much;
A life could trade from candles and wines,
By arithmetic lift of arrogance,
But life like candles will short-lived,
And all the wines will be emptied.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Oh, For a Bowl of Fat Canary
Oh, for a bowl of fat Canary,
Rich Palermo, sparkling Sherry,
Some nectar else, from Juno's dairy;
Oh, these draughts would make us merry!
Oh, for a wench (I deal in faces,
And in other daintier things);
Tickled am I with her embraces,
Fine dancing in such fairy rings.
Oh, for a plump fat leg of mutton,
Veal, lamb, capon, pig, and coney;
None is happy but a glutton,
None an ass but who want money.
Wines indeed and girls are good,
But brave victuals feast the blood;
For wenches, wine, and lusty cheer,
Jove would leap down to surfeit here.
Aladdin and the Jinn
"Bring me soft song," said Aladdin.
"This tailor-shop sings not at all.
Chant me a word of the twilight,
Of roses that mourn in the fall.
Bring me a song like hashish
That will comfort the stale and the sad,
For I would be mending my spirit,
Forgetting these days that are bad,
Forgetting companions too shallow,
Their quarrels and arguments thin,
Forgetting the shouting Muezzin:"--
"I AM YOUR SLAVE," said the Jinn.
"Bring me old wines," said Aladdin.
"I have been a starved pauper too long.
Serve them in vessels of jade and of shell,
Serve them with fruit and with song:--
Wines of pre-Adamite Sultans
Digged from beneath the black seas:--
New-gathered dew from the heavens
Dripped down from Heaven's sweet trees,
Cups from the angels' pale tables
That will make me both handsome and wise,
For I have beheld her, the princess,
Firelight and starlight her eyes.
Pauper I am, I would woo her.
And--let me drink wine, to begin,
Though the Koran expressly forbids it."
"I AM YOUR SLAVE," said the Jinn.
"Plan me a dome," said Aladdin,
"That is drawn like the dawn of the MOON,
When the sphere seems to rest on the mountains,
Half-hidden, yet full-risen soon."
Build me a dome," said Aladdin,"
That shall cause all young lovers to sigh,
The fullness of life and of beauty,
Peace beyond peace to the eye--
A palace of foam and of opal,
Pure moonlight without and within,
Where I may enthrone my sweet lady."
"I AM YOUR SLAVE," said the Jinn.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Passion's Grace
We sing sweet lullabies
We cry out melodies
We tune it, till it feels like emotion
We zoom in, till thought corrode
In our comatose, we just forget
It comforts me when I'm behind the sun
It makes me feel so good
When laughs could barely satisfy my mood
It cools me, when I'm cooking in the heat.
It ends the long days and puts me to sleep.
I think summer is at its end
I think summer is at its end
I think summer is at its end
and because of your flow it doesn't even matter
poem by Justin Henry
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Till It Shines
Words and music by bob seger
Take away my inhibitions
Take away my solitude
Fire me up with your resistance
Put me in the mood
Storm the walls around this prison
Leave the inmates
Free the guards
Deal me up another future
From some brand new deck of cards
Take the chip off of my shoulder
Smooth out all the lines
Take me out among the rustling pines
Till it shines
Like an echo down a canyon
Never coming back as clear
Lately I just judge the distance
Not the words I hear
Ive been too long on these islands
Ive been far too long alone
Ive been too long without summer
In this winter home
Still if we can make the effort
If we take the time
Maybe we can leave this much behind
Till it shines
See the rich man lost and lonely
Watch him as he dines
Sitting there just testing all the wines
Till it shines
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song Of Other days
As o'er the glacier's frozen sheet
Breathes soft the Alpine rose,
So through life's desert springing sweet
The flower of friendship grows;
And as where'er the roses grow
Some rain or dew descends,
'T is nature's law that wine should flow
To wet the lips of friends.
Then once again, before we part,
My empty glass shall ring;
And he that has the warmest heart
Shall loudest laugh and sing.
They say we were not born to eat;
But gray-haired sages think
It means, Be moderate in your meat,
And partly live to drink.
For baser tribes the rivers flow
That know not wine or song;
Man wants but little drink below,
But wants that little strong.
Then once again, etc.
If one bright drop is like the gem
That decks a monarch's crown,
One goblet holds a diadem
Of rubies melted down!
A fig for Caesar's blazing brow,
But, like the Egyptian queen,
Bid each dissolving jewel glow
My thirsty lips between.
Then once again, etc.
The Grecian's mound, the Roman's urn,
Are silent when we call,
Yet still the purple grapes return
To cluster on the wall;
It was a bright Immortal's head
They circled with the vine,
And o'er their best and bravest dead
They poured the dark-red wine.
Then once again, etc.
Methinks o'er every sparkling glass
Young Eros waves his wings,
And echoes o'er its dimples pass
From dead Anacreon's strings;
And, tossing round its beaded brim
Their locks of floating gold,
With bacchant dance and choral hymn
Return the nymphs of old.
Then once again, etc.
A welcome then to joy and mirth,
From hearts as fresh as ours,
To scatter o'er the dust of earth
Their sweetly mingled flowers;
'T is Wisdom's self the cup that fills
In spite of Folly's frown,
And Nature, from her vine-clad hills,
That rains her life-blood down!
Then once again, before we part,
My empty glass shall ring;
And he that has the warmest heart
Shall loudest laugh and sing.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Mare Rubrum
FLASH out a stream of blood-red wine,
For I would drink to other days,
And brighter shall their memory shine,
Seen flaming through its crimson blaze!
The roses die, the summers fade,
But every ghost of boyhood's dream
By nature's magic power is laid
To sleep beneath this blood-red stream!
It filled the purple grapes that lay,
And drank the splendors of the sun,
Where the long summer's cloudless day
Is mirrored in the broad Garonne;
It pictures still the bacchant shapes
That saw their hoarded sunlight shed,--
The maidens dancing on the grapes,--
Their milk-white ankles splashed with red.
Beneath these waves of crimson lie,
In rosy fetters prisoned fast,
Those flitting shapes that never die,--
The swift-winged visions of the past.
Kiss but the crystal's mystic rim,
Each shadow rends its flowery chain,
Springs in a bubble from its brim,
And walks the chambers of the brain.
Poor beauty! Time and fortune's wrong
No shape nor feature may withstand;
Thy wrecks are scattered all along,
Like emptied sea-shells on the sand;
Yet, sprinkled with this blushing rain,
The dust restores each blooming girl,
As if the sea-shells moved again
Their glistening lips of pink and pearl.
Here lies the home of school-boy life,
With creaking stair and wind-swept hall,
And, scarred by many a truant knife,
Our old initials on the wall;
Here rest, their keen vibrations mute,
The shout of voices known so well,
The ringing laugh, the wailing flute,
The chiding of the sharp-tongued bell.
Here, clad in burning robes, are laid
Life's blossomed joys, untimely shed,
And here those cherished forms have strayed
We miss awhile, and call them dead.
What wizard fills the wondrous glass?
What soil the enchanted clusters grew?
That buried passions wake and pass
In beaded drops of fiery dew?
Nay, take the cup of blood-red wine,--
Our hearts can boast a warmer glow,
Filled from a vintage more divine,
Calmed, but not chilled, by winter's snow!
To-night the palest wave we sip
Rich as the priceless draught shall be
That wet the bride of Cana's lip,--
The wedding wine of Galilee!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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