Beer by George Arnold

[grogdog]

Here, 

    With my beer 

I sit, 

While golden moments flit: 

    Alas! 

    They pass 

Unheeded by: 

And, as they fly, 

I, 

Being dry, 

    Sit, idly sipping here 

    My beer. 

 

O, finer far 

Than fame, or riches, are 

The graceful smoke-wreaths of this free cigar! 

    Why 

    Should I 

    Weep, wail, or sigh? 

    What if luck has passed me by? 

What if my hopes are dead,—  

My pleasures fled? 

    Have I not still 

    My fill 

Of right good cheer,— 

Cigars and beer? 

 

    Go, whining youth, 

    Forsooth! 

Go, weep and wail, 

Sigh and grow pale, 

    Weave melancholy rhymes 

    On the old times, 

Whose joys like shadowy ghosts appear,—

But leave me to my beer! 

    Gold is dross,— 

    Love is loss,—

So, if I gulp my sorrows down, 

Or see them drown 

In foamy draughts of old nut-brown, 

Then do I wear the crown, 

    Without the cross!