by John Cunningham
ODE XIX .
Old Earth, when in a tippling vein,
Drinks torrents of ambrosial rain,
Which the tall trees, by heat opprest,
Drink from her kind maternal breast:
Lest angry Ocean should be dry,
The river-gods their stores supply:
The Monarch of the glowing day
Drinks large potations from the sea:
And the pale Empress of the night
Drinks from his orb propitious light:
All — all things drink — abstemious sage!
Why should not we our thirst assuage?
Last updated January 14, 2019