* * *
Taunt me not with truth or rumour—
Daggers have no sense of humour!
* * *
Trim your whiskers with a razor,
Fell your timber with an axe,
Do not be a trouble-raiser—
Sheathe your dagger, and relax!
* * *
Spring-feverish and wild,
Or keen and cold as ice,
A knife begets no child
But orphans in a trice.
ON WINE HORNS
* * *
Praise water, that may gratify
A shepherd’s thirsty flocks!
But it was not for water I
Was wrested from the ox.
* * *
Men drank and died, still drink—and die
But shall Death pass non-drinkers by?
* * *
Though you withdraw and lock the door
To drink your wine alone,
Ere dusk shall fall, to one and all
Your secret shall be known.
* * *
All that is said when good wine flows,
Better than God, the wine horn knows.
* * *
Drink your fill of fragrant foam
But don’t forget the way back home!
* * *
A ban on drink won’t stop a drinking man,
Nor does it stop the authors of the ban.
* * *
A wise man drank, a fool he grew.
The opposite has happened, too.
* * *
You pour the wine and drink it like a king,
But soon discover you’re its underling!
* * *
Come drink, procrastinator,
We’ll find a reason later!
* * *
Rain swells the stalk,
And wine—our talk.
* * *
Full of wine? Then swill it!
Empty? Swiftly fill it!