I. Who tames the lion now? Who smoothes Jove's wrinkles now? Who is the reckless wight That in the horrid middle Of the deserted night Doth play upon man's brain, As on a wanton fiddle, The mad and magic strain, The reeling, tripping sound, To which the world goes round? Sing heigh! ho! diddle! And then say -- Love, quotha, Love? nay, nay! It is a spirit fine Of ale or ancient wine, Lord Alcohol, the drunken fay, Lord Alcohol alway! II. Who maketh the pipe-clay man Think all that nature can? Who dares the gods to flout, Lay fate beneath the table, And maketh him stammer out A thousand monstrous things, For history a fable, Dish-clouts for kings? And sends the world along Singing a ribald song Of heigho! Babel? Who, I pray -- Love, quotha, Love? nay, nay! It is spirit fine Of ale or ancient wine, Lord Alcohol, the drunken fay, Lord Alcohol alway. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE ROCK THAT WILL BE A CORNERSTONE OF THE HOUSE by ROBINSON JEFFERS LA RONDE DU DIABLE by AMY LOWELL TO-MORROW IS MY BIRTHDAY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS BUCOLIC COMEDY: EARLY SPRING by EDITH SITWELL GOOD-BYE DOROTHY GAYLE: ST. CLOUD, MINNESOTA by KAREN SWENSON |