Ричард Генри Стоддард (Richard Henry Stoddard)

* * *

Day and night my thoughts incline
To the blandishments of wine:
Jars were made to drain, I think,
Wine, I know, was made to drink.

When I die (the day be far!),
Should the potters make a jar
Out of this poor clay of mine,
Let the jar be filled with wine!

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