The Five Senses

Oh, why do men their glasses clink
When good old honest wine they drink?

Wine is so excellent a thing
To lowest subject, or to highest king,
That every sense alike should share
The pleasure that can banish care.
Thus may each merry eye behold
The sparkle of the red or gold.
Our lips may feel the goblet's edge
And taste the loving cup we pledge.
While from each foaming glass escape
The precious perfumes of the grape.
But ah, we hear it not, and so
We give the touch that all men know.
And thus do all the senses share
The pleasure that can banish care.

And that is why the glasses clink
When good old honest wine we drink.

Arthur Macy

Arthur Macy was an American poet known for his contributions during the 19th century. Born on June 6, 1842, he became widely recognized for his poignant and evocative verses, which often reflected themes of nature and human emotion. His poetry gained considerable respect and admiration during his lifetime. He passed away on June 1, 1904.

Arthur Macy

The Indifferent Mariner

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

Susan Scuppernong

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

The Oyster

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

The Worm Will Turn

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

English

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The Old Cafe

You know,
Don't you, Joe,
Those merry evenings long ago?
You know the room, the narrow stair,
The wreaths of smoke that circled there,
The corner table where we sat
For hours in after-dinner chat,
And magnified
Our little world inside.
You know,
Don't you, Joe?

Ah, those nights divine!
The simple, frugal wine,
The airs on crude Italian strings,
The joyous, harmless revelings,
Just fit for us - or kings!
At times a quaint and wickered flask
Of rare Chianti, or from the homelier cask
Of modest Pilsener a stein or so,
Amid the merry talk would flow;
Or red Bordeaux
From vines that grew where dear Montaigne
Held his domain.
And you remember that dark eye,
None too shy;
In fact, she seemed a bit too free
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Arthur Macy

Dinner Favors, To S.

I fill my goblet to the brim
And clink the glasses rim to rim.
Across the board I waft a kiss
With thanks for such an hour as this,
And clasping joy, bid sorrow flee,
And welcome you my vis-à-vis.

Arthur Macy

The Cup Of Joy.

Let us mix a cup of Joy
That the wretched may employ,
Whom the Fates have made their toy.

Who have given brain and heart
To the thankless world of Art,
And from Fame have won no part.

Who have labored long at thought;
Starved and toiled and all for naught;
Sought and found not what they sought.

Let our goblet be the skull
Of a fool; made beautiful
With a gold nor base nor dull:

Gold of madcap fancies, once
It contained, that, sage or dunce,
Each can read whoever runs.

First we pour the liquid light
Of our dreams in; then the bright
Beauty that makes day of night.

Let this be the must wherefrom,
In due time, the mettlesome
Care-destroying drink shall come.

Folly next: with which mix in
Lau...

Madison Julius Cawein

Bacchus

Bring me wine, but wine which never grew
In the belly of the grape,
Or grew on vine whose tap-roots, reaching through,
Under the Andes to the Cape,
Suffer no savor of the earth to scape.

Let its grapes the morn salute
From a nocturnal root,
Which feels the acrid juice
Of Styx and Erebus;
And turns the woe of Night,
By its own craft, to a more rich delight.

We buy ashes for bread;
We buy diluted wine;
Give me of the true,--
Whose ample leaves and tendrils curled
Among the silver hills of heaven
Draw everlasting dew;
Wine of wine,
Blood of the world,
Form of forms, and mould of statures,
That I intoxicated,
And by the draught assimilated,
May float at pleasure through all natures;
The bird-language rightly spell,

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Quaff The Glass, The Wine Is Red.

    Quaff the glass, the wine is red,
        And the rose of youth is glowing,
    While the toils of life are fled
        And the snows of age are going;
    Quaff it with a hearty will,
        Quaff it deep and quaff forever;
    Wine will every sorrow kill,
        And destroy the pleasures never.

    When the heart beats sad and low,
        Drink its gladness like a river;
    When the soul is weak with woe,
        Quaff and be a cheerful liver;
    Never, never, life, despair,
        While a cup of hope is nigh thee;
    Bend not under loads of care
        While the fount of joy is by thee!

    If the fickle friendships end
        And thy fortune be a sad one,
    Claim, O, claim, as truest friend,
        Ruby wine, the...

Freeman Edwin Miller

When The Wine-Cup At The Lip.

When the wine-cup at the lip
Slants its sparkling fire,
O'er its level, while you sip,
Have you marked the finger-tip
Of the god DESIRE slip,
Of the god DESIRE?
Saying - Lo, the hours run!
Live your day before 't is done!

When the empty goblet lies
At the ended revel,
In the glass, the wine-stain dyes,
Have you marked the hollow eyes
Of a mocking Devil rise,
Of a mocking Devil?
Saying - Lo, the day is through!
Look on joy it gave to you!

Madison Julius Cawein