On Wine
Though I may scent black cherry,
Violets or truffles in the nose,
Make my companions weary
Praising the bull’s blood that I chose,
Though it courses through my heart
And makes me brave (but rarely true),
And is the consummated art
Of all that tastebuds can construe,
Though I forget, I won’t deny:
The peroration to all this,
When the radiant glass is dry,
Is one expensive piss.
Though I may scent black cherry,
Violets or truffles in the nose,
Make my companions weary
Praising the bull’s blood that I chose,
Though it courses through my heart
And makes me brave (but rarely true),
And is the consummated art
Of all that tastebuds can construe,
Though I forget, I won’t deny:
The peroration to all this,
When the radiant glass is dry,
Is one expensive piss.
