Sing!--Who sings
To her who weareth a hundred rings?
Ah, who is this lady fine?
The VINE, boys, the VINE!
The mother of mighty Wine.
A roamer is she
O'er wall and tree,
And sometimes very good company.
Drink!--Who drinks
To her who blusheth and never thinks?
Ah, who is this maid of thine?
The GRAPE, boys, the GRAPE!
O, never let her escape
Until she be turned to Wine!
For better is she
Than vine can be,
And very, very good company!
Dream!--Who dreams
Of the God that governs a thousand streams?
Ah, who is this Spirit fine?
'T is WINE, boys, 't is WINE!
God Bacchus, a friend of mine.
O better is he
Than grape or tree,
And the best of all good company.
[Decoration]
_SHE WAS NOT FAIR NOR FULL OF GRACE._
She was not fair, nor full of grace,
Nor crowned with thought or aught beside;
No wealth had she, of mind or face,
To win our love, or raise our pride:
No lover's thought her cheek did touch;
No poet's dream was 'round her thrown;
And yet we miss her--ah, too much,
Now--she hath flown!
We miss her when the morning calls,
As one that mingled in our mirth;
We miss her when the evening falls,--
A trifle wanted on the earth!
Some fancy small or subtle thought
Is checked ere to its blossom grown;
Some chain is broken that we wrought,
Now--she hath flown!
No solid good, nor hope defined,
Is marred now she hath sunk in night;
And yet the strong immortal Mind
Is stopped in its triumphant flight!
Stern friend, what power is in a tear,
What strength in one poor thought alone,
When all we know is--"She was here,"
And--"She hath flown!"
[Decoration]
_THE SEA-KING._