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.
I base most of my fashion taste on what doesn't itch
Cease to ask what the morrow will bring forth and set down as gain each day that fortune grants.
Fleas Adam Had 'em. originally entitled "Lines on the Antiquity of Microbes"