(At a Dinner of the Omar Khayyam Club.)
“Draw nigh the Board ” one came to me and said
‘ Nigh Winter-Gardens of Phraskatih spread ;
The Rose shall blossom in thy Button-hole,
The Fruits of Earth are ripe, her Wine is red.’
” Nay, Nay,” I answered ; ‘ once it might have been :
Now, they who o’er the Beaker long to lean
Push it aside, and in the Pipkin pour
Ammoniated Tincture of Quinine.
‘ Alas, my Spring has vanished with the Rose,
My Clay is moulded into Adipose ;
He knows, who plucked, the Thorn is in his Thumb ;
He knows, who tasted, Fruits have Salt Eno’s.
‘ Against the rich historic Recipe
The Moving Finger writes IT-USED-TO-BE :
The Goose is cooked ; the Bon-Vivant to-day
Keeps but a poor dysPepysy’s Diary.
‘ Yet hail, Ingrate, the Kindliness that sets
The Cup that clears To-day of past Regrets !
To-morrow? Why, to-morrow I may spend
Imbibing Lethe Lithia Varalettes.
‘ A truce to doubting Whither, Why, and Whence
And when, replenish’d, we shall shuffle hence,
Oh, may a Cup of that forbidden Wine
Be my excuse for this Impertinence ! ‘
(Frank Sidgwick)
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Based on Topics: Money & Wealth Poems, Past Poems, Wine PoemsBased on Keywords: tincture, impertinence, recipe, beaker, replenish, kindliness, omar, ingrate, diary, quinine, button-hole