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! - Richard Henry Stoddard

I have been sojourning late
Among the pleasant places of my Past,
The green and quiet neighborhoods of Thought,
In which I wandered in my wayward youth;
With no companion but the constant Muse,
Who sought me when I needed her—ah when
Did I not need her, solitary else?

Once when the days were ages,
And the old Earth was young,
The high gods and the sages
From Nature's golden pages
Her open secrets wrung.
Each questioned each to know
Whence came the Heavens above, and whence the Earth below.

A face at the window, A tap on the pane:
Who is it that wants me To-night in the rain?