So Noah, when he anchor'd safe on
The mountain's top, his lofty haven,
And all the passengers he bore
Were on the new world set ashore,
He made it next his chief design
To plant and propagate a vine,
Which since has overwhelm'd and drown'd
Far greater number, on dry ground,
Of wretched mankind, one by one,
Than all the flood before had done.
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I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the
boughs thereof; now read more
I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the
boughs thereof; now also thy breasts shall be as clusters of the
vine, and the smell of thy nose like apples;
And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, that
goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to
speak.
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
When asked what wines he liked to drink he replied, "That which
belongs to another."
- read more
When asked what wines he liked to drink he replied, "That which
belongs to another."
- Laertius Diogenes,
Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his
colour in the cup, when read more
Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his
colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright.
At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.
Ten thousand casks,
Forever dribbling out their base contents,
Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state,
read more
Ten thousand casks,
Forever dribbling out their base contents,
Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state,
Bleed gold for ministers to sport away.
Drink, and be mad then; 'tis your country bids!
Firm and erect the Caledonian stood;
Sound was his mutton, and his claret good;
"Let him drink read more
Firm and erect the Caledonian stood;
Sound was his mutton, and his claret good;
"Let him drink port!" the English statesman cried:
He drank the poison, and his spirit died.
The conscious water saw its God and blushed.
- Richard Crashaw,
The conscious water saw its God and blushed.
- Richard Crashaw,
I hang no ivie out to sell my wine;
The nectar of good wits will sell itself.
I hang no ivie out to sell my wine;
The nectar of good wits will sell itself.
Sing! Who sings
To her who weareth a hundred rings?
Ah, who is this lady fine?
read more
Sing! Who sings
To her who weareth a hundred rings?
Ah, who is this lady fine?
The Vine, boys, the Vine!
The mother of the mighty Wine,
A roamer is she
O'er wall and tree
And sometimes very good company.
