I'VE been drinking, I've been drinking, To intoxication's edge; Do not chide me; for the tipple Wasn't mentioned in the pledge. Nay, believe me, -- 't was not Brandy Wrought the roses that you see; One may get a finer crimson From a purer eau-de-vie. No, indeed; it was not Claret (That were something overweak); There's a vastly better vintage For the painting of a cheek. Not Angelica, -- the honey By Loyola's children pressed From the Andalusian clusters Ripened in the Golden West; Not Madeira, Hock, nor Sherry; No, indeed, 't is none of these Makes me giddy in the forehead, Makes me tremble in the knees. No; 't is not the Gallic "Widow" That has turned my foolish brain, Nor the wine of any vineyard Found in Germany or Spain. Nay -- I own it! -- 't is the nectar That a favored lover sips (All unheeding of the danger!) From a maiden's pulpy lips! This it is that I've been drinking To intoxication's edge; Till I marvel that the tipple Is n't mentioned in the pledge! For the taste is so enchanting 'T is impossible to see, Should it grow into a habit, What the consequence may be. Well, I'll heed the sage's lesson, Pleasant, though it prove in vain, And by drinking very largely Try to sober me again! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ICE-CREAM SANDWICH by KAREN SWENSON THE LITANY: 10. THE MARTYRS by JOHN DONNE TO HIS MISTRESS OBJECTING TO HIM NEITHER TOYING OR TALKING by ROBERT HERRICK THE AUTHOR'S EPITAPH, MADE BY HIMSELF by WALTER RALEIGH THE SISTERS by JOHN BANISTER TABB TENNYSON by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |