Earthen jar of quaint design, Fragile clay and slender mould, I shall soon have drained the wine Which you still contrive to hold, -- Wine that sixty years ago Seemed about to overflow. Few the draughts that now remain, And I husband them with care, For naught ever comes again That is once exhausted there, And the emptied jar is cast To the scrap-heap of the past. Oh, the wine we rashly waste When held brimming to the lip! What a difference in its taste When we drink it sip by sip, As a miser counts his gold On a hearth that leaves him cold! But why should we feel distress If the jar be far from filled? Though its contents may be less, Yet its essence is distilled, And the best wine always clears With the passing of the years. Fermentation is for youth, But serenity for age; For a knowledge of the truth Men have always sought the Sage, And though youth may live with zest, 'Tis in age that one lives best. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LA NOCHE TRISTE by ROBERT FROST RETROSPECT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE SLAVE TRADE: VIEW FROM THE MIDDLE PASSAGE by CLARENCE MAJOR SONG BY THE WINDOW BEFORE BED by KATHERINE MANSFIELD QUI S'EXCUSE S'ACCUSE by MARIANNE MOORE |