"What's in a gla** of wine?"
There, set the gla** where I can look within.
Now listen to me, friend, while I begin
And tell you what I see—
What I behold with my far-reaching eyes,
And what I know to be
Below the laughing bubbles that arise
Within this gla** of wine.
There is a little spirit, night and day,
That cries one word, for ever and alway:
That single word is "More!"
And whoso drinks a gla** of wine, drinks him:
You fill the goblet full unto the brim,
And strive to silence him.
Gla** after gla** you drain to quench his thirst,
Each gla** contains a spirit like the first;
And all their voices cry
Until they shriek and clamor, howl and rave,
And shout "More!" noisily,
Till welcome d**h prepares the drunkard's grave,
And stills the imps that rave.
That see I in the wine:
And tears so many that I cannot guess;
And all these drops are labelled with "Distress."
I know you cannot see.
And at the bottom are the dregs of shame:
Oh! it is plain to me.
And there are woes too terrible to name:
Now drink your gla** of wine.