 | The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich |  |
AMONTILLADO
(In a rhythm of Mr. Thackeray)
Rafters black with smoke,
White with sand the floor is,
Twenty whiskered Dons
Calling to Dolores—
Tawny flower of Spain,
Wild rose of Granada,
Keeper of the wines
In this old posada.
White with sand the floor is,
Twenty whiskered Dons
Calling to Dolores—
Tawny flower of Spain,
Wild rose of Granada,
Keeper of the wines
In this old posada.
Hither, light-of-foot,
Dolores—Juno—Circe!
Pretty Spanish girl
Without a grain of mercy!
Here I'm travel-worn,
Sad, and thirsty very,
And she does not fetch
The Amontillado sherry!
Dolores—Juno—Circe!
Pretty Spanish girl
Without a grain of mercy!
Here I'm travel-worn,
Sad, and thirsty very,
136
The Amontillado sherry!
Thank you, breath of June!
Now my heart beats free; ah,
Kisses for your hand,
Mariquita mia.
You shall live in song,
Warm and ripe and cheery,
Mellowing with years
Like Amontillado sherry.
Now my heart beats free; ah,
Kisses for your hand,
Mariquita mia.
You shall live in song,
Warm and ripe and cheery,
Mellowing with years
Like Amontillado sherry.
While the earth spins round
And the stars lean over,
May this amber sprite
Never lack a lover.
Blessèd be the man
Who lured her from the berry,
And blest the girl that brings
The Amontillado sherry!
And the stars lean over,
May this amber sprite
Never lack a lover.
Blessèd be the man
Who lured her from the berry,
And blest the girl that brings
The Amontillado sherry!
Sorrow, get thee hence!
Care, be gone, blue dragon!
Only shapes of joy
Are sculptured on the flagon.
Kisses—repartees—
Lyrics—all that's merry
Rise to touch the lip
In Amontillado sherry.
Care, be gone, blue dragon!
Only shapes of joy
Are sculptured on the flagon.
Kisses—repartees—
Lyrics—all that's merry
Rise to touch the lip
In Amontillado sherry.
137
Here be wit and mirth,
And love, the arch enchanter;
Here the golden blood
Of saints in this decanter.
When pale Charon comes
To row me o'er his ferry,
I'll fee him with a case
Of Amontillado sherry!
And love, the arch enchanter;
Here the golden blood
Of saints in this decanter.
When pale Charon comes
To row me o'er his ferry,
I'll fee him with a case
Of Amontillado sherry!
What! the flagon's dry?
Hark, old Time's confession—
Both hands crossed at XII,
Owning his transgression!
Pray, old monk, for all
Generous souls and merry;
May they have their share
Of Amontillado sherry!
Hark, old Time's confession—
Both hands crossed at XII,
Owning his transgression!
Pray, old monk, for all
Generous souls and merry;
May they have their share
Of Amontillado sherry!
| The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | |