Famous Short Wine Poems

Famous Short Wine Poems. Short Wine Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Wine short poems

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Wine | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Paul Laurence Dunbar

A CHOICE

They please me not—these solemn songs
That hint of sermons covered up.
'Tis true the world should heed its wrongs,
But in a poem let me sup,
Not simples brewed to cure or ease
Humanity's confessed disease,
But the spirit-wine of a singing line,
[Pg 127]Or a dew-drop in a honey cup!


by Gwendolyn Brooks

The Independent Man

 Now who could take you off to tiny life 
In one room or in two rooms or in three 
And cork you smartly, like the flask of wine 
You are? Not any woman.
Not a wife.
You'd let her twirl you, give her a good glee Showing your leaping ruby to a friend.
Though twirling would be meek.
Since not a cork Could you allow, for being made so free.
A woman would be wise to think it well If once a week you only rang the bell.


by Charles Bukowski

Poem For My 43rd Birthday

 To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine--
just a lightbulb
and a potbelly,
grayhaired,
and glad to have
the room.
.
.
.
in the morning they're out there making money: judges, carpenters, plumbers, doctors, newsboys, policemen, barbers, carwashers, dentists, florists, waitresses, cooks, cabdrivers.
.
.
and you turn over to your left side to get the sun on your back and out of your eyes.
from "All's Normal Here" - 1985


by Li Po

Confessional

 There was wine in a cup of gold
and a girl of fifteen from Wu,
her eyebrows painted dark
and with slippers of red brocade.
If her conversation was poor, how beautifully she could sing! Together we dined and drank until she settled in my arms.
Behind her curtains embroidered with lotuses, how could I refuse the temptation of her advances?


by Henry Van Dyke

The Empty Quatrain

 A flawless cup: how delicate and fine
The flowing curve of every jewelled line!
Look, turn it up or down, 't is perfect still,--
But holds no drop of life's heart-warming wine.


by Ogden Nash

Oh To Be Odd!

 Hypochondriacs
Spend the winter at the bottom of Florida and the summer on top of
the Adirondriacs.
You go to Paris and live on champagne wine and cognac If you're dipsomognac.
If you're a manic-depressive You don't go anywhere where you won't be cheered up, and people say "There, there!" if your bills are excessive.
But you stick around and work day and night and night and day with your nose to the sawmill.
If you're nawmill.
Note: Dipsomaniac -- alcoholic


by John Keats

Give Me Women Wine and Snuff

 GIVE me women, wine, and snuff 
Untill I cry out "hold, enough!" 
You may do so sans objection 
Till the day of resurrection: 
For, bless my beard, they aye shall be 
My beloved Trinity.


by Omar Khayyam

How long shall we blush at the injustice of others?

How long shall we blush at the injustice of others?
How long shall we burn in the fire of this insipid world?
Arise, banish from thee the sorrow of the world, if thou
art a man; to-day is a feast; come, drink rose-colored
wine.


by Wang Wei

AT PARTING

I dismount from my horse and I offer you wine, 
And I ask you where you are going and why.
And you answer: "I am discontent And would rest at the foot of the southern mountain.
So give me leave and ask me no questions.
White clouds pass there without end.
"


by Robert Herrick

A Lyric to Mirth

 While the milder fates consent,
Let's enjoy our merriment :
Drink, and dance, and pipe, and play ;
Kiss our dollies night and day :
Crowned with clusters of the vine,
Let us sit, and quaff our wine.
Call on Bacchus, chant his praise ; Shake the thyrse, and bite the bays : Rouse Anacreon from the dead, And return him drunk to bed : Sing o'er Horace, for ere long Death will come and mar the song : Then shall Wilson and Gotiere Never sing or play more here.


by Omar Khayyam

And David's Lips are lockt

And David’s Lips are lockt; but in divine
High-piping Péhlevi, with “Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!”—the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.


by Sara Teasdale

I Remembered

 There never was a mood of mine,
Gay or heart-broken, luminous or dull,
But you could ease me of its fever
And give it back to me more beutiful.
In many another soul I broke the bread, And drank the wine and played the happy guest, But I was lonely, I remembered you; The heart belong to him who knew it best.


by Dorothy Parker

Coda

 There's little in taking or giving,
There's little in water or wine;
This living, this living, this living
Was never a project of mine.
Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is The gain of the one at the top, For art is a form of catharsis, And love is a permanent flop, And work is the province of cattle, And rest's for a clam in a shell, So I'm thinking of throwing the battle- Would you kindly direct me to hell?


by Robert Burns

442. Remorseful Apology

 THE FRIEND whom, wild from Wisdom’s way,
 The fumes of wine infuriate send,
(Not moony madness more astray)
 Who but deplores that hapless friend?


Mine was th’ insensate frenzied part,
 Ah! why should I such scenes outlive?
Scenes so abhorrent to my heart!—
 ’Tis thine to pity and forgive.


by Robert Herrick

AN ODE FOR BEN JONSON

 Ah Ben!
Say how or when
Shall we, thy guests,
Meet at those lyric feasts,
Made at the Sun,
The Dog, the Triple Tun;
Where we such clusters had,
As made us nobly wild, not mad?
And yet each verse of thine
Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.
My Ben! Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it, Lest we that talent spend; And having once brought to an end That precious stock,--the store Of such a wit the world should have no more.


by Li Po

A Mountain Revelry

 To wash and rinse our souls of their age-old sorrows,
We drained a hundred jugs of wine.
A splendid night it was .
.
.
.
In the clear moonlight we were loath to go to bed, But at last drunkenness overtook us; And we laid ourselves down on the empty mountain, The earth for pillow, and the great heaven for coverlet.


by Hilaire Belloc

The Catholic Sun

 Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine,
There’s always laughter and good red wine.
At least I’ve always found it so.
Benedicamus Domino!


by William Butler Yeats

A Deep Sworn Vow

 Others because you did not keep
That deep-sworn vow have been friends of mine;
Yet always when I look death in the face,
When I clamber to the heights of sleep,
Or when I grow excited with wine,
Suddenly I meet your face.


by Paul Laurence Dunbar

A Choice

 They please me not-- these solemn songs 
That hint of sermons covered up.
'T is true the world should heed its wrongs, But in a poem let me sup, Not simples brewed to cure or ease Humanity's confessed disease, But the spirit-wine of a singing line, Or a dew-drop in a honey cup!


by Brooks Haxton

Monster Minded

 The wine of astonishment
is house wine at my house.
The whiskey of it is a sauce we savor.
The cocaine of thy judgment also is rock crystal, blow to blow the mitral valve.
Truly is the heroin of thine excellency said to be deep brown, shit pure enough to stop the heart.


by Wang Wei

Farewell

 Down horse drink gentleman alcohol 
Ask gentleman what place go 
Gentleman say not achieve wish 
Return lie south mountain near 
Still go nothing more ask 
White cloud not exhaust time 


Dismounting, I offer my friend a cup of wine, 
I ask what place he is headed to.
He says he has not achieved his aims, Is retiring to the southern hills.
Now go, and ask me nothing more, White clouds will drift on for all time.


by William Butler Yeats

A Drinking Song

 Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh.


by Amy Levy

At a Dinner Party

 With fruit and flowers the board is deckt,
The wine and laughter flow;
I'll not complain--could one expect
So dull a world to know?

You look across the fruit and flowers,
My glance your glances find.
-- It is our secret, only ours, Since all the world is blind.


by Amy Lowell

Anticipation

 I have been temperate always,
But I am like to be very drunk
With your coming.
There have been times I feared to walk down the street Lest I should reel with the wine of you, And jerk against my neighbours As they go by.
I am parched now, and my tongue is horrible in my mouth, But my brain is noisy With the clash and gurgle of filling wine-cups.


by Omar Khayyam

My heart is weary of hypocrisy,

My heart is weary of hypocrisy,
Cupbearer, bring some wine, I beg of thee!
This hooded cowl and prayer-mat pawn for wine,
Then will I boast me in security.