A Drinking Song

Oh, give to me the freshest drink,—
   A draught as smooth as silk
And whiter than the kitchen sink,—
   A pail full of milk!

Pour it with love, and watch it flow,
   (Nor spill a drop, for dread!)
Pour it precisely, enjoy the show,
   And give it a foamy head!

I drink it ere the morning sun
   Hath waked the early bird:
I wake and make a midnight run
   To taste the lazy herd.

I rise at dawn and drink again,
   And drink throughout the day;
Then drink a nightcap (or nine or ten)
   And dream of curds and whey.

I've heard it said I drink too much,
   And this is understood;
But man has never died from such,
   And, oh! it's just so good!

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Yet Another Dark Lady

Some hold it true that Erin’s creamy skin
Is clearly fairest in both grain and hue;
And I have seen such porcelain skin as hin-
ted quite convincingly that this was true.
Some hold it true the Aztec’s nut-brown hide
(Made with Quetzal’s chocolate from long ago)
Is fairest, and understandably deride
The purblind eyes of those who do not know.
And others, still, prefer a different cast,—
A different color, texture, shade, and tone.
And most enjoy a rude debate on taste.
I argue not, but leave them all alone:
I’d rather go and dream a blissful dream
Of chocolate skin kissed wet with Irish cream.

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