SONG OF THE DECANTER
An anonymous poem
- There was an old decanter,
- and its mouth was gaping
- wide; the rosy wine
- had ebbed away
- and left
- its crys-
- tal side;
- and the wind
- went humming,
- h u m m i n g;
- up and
- down the
- sides it flew,
- and through the
- reed-like,
- hollow neck
- the wildest notes it
- blew. I placed it in the
- window, where the blast was
- blowing free, and fancied that its
- pale mouth sang the queerest strains
- to me. "They tell me--puny con-
- querors!--the Plague as slain his ten,
- and War his hundred thousands of the
- very best of men; but I"--'twas thus
- the bottle spoke--"but I have con-
- quered more than all your famous con-
- querors, so feared and famed of yore.
- Then come, ye youths and maidens,
- come drink from out my cup, the bev-
- erage that dulls the brain and burns
- the spirit up; that puts to shame
- the conquerors that slay their
- scores below; for this has del-
- uged millions with the lava tide
- of woe. Though, in the path
- of battle, darkest waves of
- blood may roll; yet while
- I killed the body, I have
- damned the very soul.
- The cholera, the sword,
- such ruin never wrought,
- as I, in mirth or malice, on
- the innocent have brought.
- And still I breathe upon them,
- and they shrink before my breath;
- and year by year my thousands tread
- THE TERRIBLE ROAD TO DEATH.
"Song of the Decanter"
is reprinted from One Hundred Choice Selections. Ed. Phineas
Garrett. Philadelphia: Penn Publishing Co., 1897. |
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