I'm rather slow at extravaganzas, And what your poets call thunderclaps; I'll therefore spin you some sober stanzas Concerning nothing at all but Schnapps. And though my wisdom, like Sancho Panza's, Consists entirely of bits and scraps , I'll bet you fourpence that no man plans as Intense a poem as I on Schoapps. Schnapps is, you know, the genteelest liquid That any tapster in Potsdam taps; When you've tobacco, and chew a thick quid , You've still to grin for your glass of Schnapps. You then wax funny, and show your slick wit, And smash to smithers with kicks and slaps Whatever's next you-in Latin quicquid For I quote Horace when lauding Schnapps. I've but one pocket for quids and coppers, Which last moreover are mostly raps, Yet, 'midst my ha'pence and pipes and stoppers, I still find room for a flask of Schnapps. My daily quantum is twenty croppers, For ten half noggins; but, when with chaps Who, though good Schnappers, are no slipsloppers, I help to empty a keg of Schnapps. Being fifty, sixty, or therebetwixt, I Guess many midnights can't now elapse Before the hour comes in which my fixt eye Must look its last upon earth and Schnapps. I'll kick the pail, too, in some dark pigstye, Imbibing hogwash, or whey perhaps, Which, taken sep'rate, or even mixt, I Don't think superior at all to Schnapps. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SMALL SELF AND THE LIBERAL SELF by JAMES GALVIN BRUTUS AND ANTONY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DEATH SNIPS PROUD MEN by CARL SANDBURG WHAT I LIVE FOR by GEORGE LINNAEUS BANKS ODE TO ETHIOPIA by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE ROSES ON THE TERRACE by ALFRED TENNYSON WRITTEN IN ZIMMERMAN'S SOLITUDE by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS |