Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, OF CERTAIN ADJECTUIVES, by AMOS RUSSEL WELLS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

OF CERTAIN ADJECTUIVES, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: A 'generous' liquor! Ah, if generous
Last Line: God for the right!
Subject(s): Alcoholism & Alcoholics; Language; Words; Vocabulary


A "generous" liquor! Ah, if generous
Let it return, of what it steals from us,
At least one-tenth! -- one soul for every ten
In mercy let it render back again;
One-tenth of all the homes, the land, the gold,
The peace, the joy, its close-mouthed coffers hold!
You sneer, you generous liquor. Well you know
All things to get and nothing to let go.
"Generous," forsooth!

"A royal bumper"! "Royal"? Yes, a king
Whose reign means serfdom. There's no sacred thing
This "royal" liquor fails to override,
And whelm in fiendish lust and hateful pride.
His regnant sceptre bends, and at the sign
Men yield themselves the crawling slaves of wine.
His throne is built of broken hearts, his crown
Gleams red with stars from heaven fallen down.
"Royal," indeed!

"A sparkling goblet"! Yes, yes! -- all ablaze
With horrid hell's most haggard, ghastly rays,
The light of happy eyes turned to despair,
The flash of hate, the eating flame of care,
The glitter of a madman's awful eyes,
The dying light that stabs one as it dies, --
Hence does the "sparkling goblet" get the glow
And radiant glances that delight men so.
"Sparkling," forsooth!

"Strong" drink, "strong" drink! Well may we call it strong
That drags so many myriad men headlong
Down woe's most awful path to dreadful death,
That shatters happy households at a breath,
And fastens with its hot and crooked hands
On temple roof and spire that loftiest stands,
While marts and studios and statesmen's halls
It levels to the slime wherein it crawls.
"Strong" drink, indeed!

And "rare old spirits"! Ah, how many a prayer
Beseeches God that they become more rare!
Rare -- till the widow's tears less common are;
Rare -- till dismantled homes are fewer far;
Rare -- till the children's sobs, the wives' despair,
The drunkard's dreadful anguish, grow more rare!
Brothers, to work! to work with hand and will,
And make these "rare old spirits" rarer still!
God for the right!





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