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Poem	How cool and fair this cellar where My throne a dusky cask is; To do no thing but just to sing And drown the time my task is. The cooper he's Resolved to please, And, answering to my winking, He fills me up Cup after cup For drinking, drinking, drinking. Begrudge me not This cosy spot In which I am reclining-- Why, who would burst With envious thirst, When he can live by wining. A roseate hue seems to imbue The world on which I'm blinking; My fellow-men--I love them when I'm drinking, drinking, drinking. And yet I think, the more I drink, It's more and more I pine for-- Oh, such as I (forever dry) God made this land of Rhine for; And there is bliss In knowing this, As to the floor I'm sinking: I've wronged no man And never can While drinking, drinking, drinking.
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