The Rubaiyat of Ohow Dryyam With Apologies to Omar

Excerpt

The Rubaiyat of Ohow Dryyam

I

Wail! for the Law has scattered into flightThose Drinks that were our sometime dear Delight;And still the Morals-tinkers plot and planNew, sterner, stricter Statutes to indite.After the phantom of our Freedom diedMethought a Voice within the Tavern cried:“Drink coffee, Lads, for that is all that’s leftSince our Land of the Free is washed—and dried.”

And still the Morals-tinkers plot and plan
New, sterner, stricter Statutes to indite.

III

The Haigs indeed are gone, and on the NoseThat bourgeoned once with color of the roseA deathly Pallor sits, while down the laneWhere once strode Johnny Walker—Water goes.Come, fill the Cup, and in the Coffee-houseWe’ll learn a new and temperate Carouse—The Bird of Time flies with a steadier wingBut roosts with sleepless Eye—a Coffee Souse!

V

Each morn a thousand Recipes, you say—Yes, but where match the beer of Yesterday?And those Spring Months that used to bring the BockSeem very long ago and far away.

The Bird of Time flies with a steadier wing
But roosts with sleepless Eye—a Coffee Souse!

A Book of Blue Laws underneath the Bough,A pot of Tea, a piece of Toast,—and ThouBeside me sighing in the Wilderness—Wilderness? It’s Desert, Sister, now.

VII

Some for a Sunday without Taint, and SomeSigh for Inebriate Paradise to come,While Moonshine takes the Cash (no Credit goes)And real old Stuff demands a Premium.

A Book of Blue Laws underneath the Bough,
A pot of Tea, a piece of Toast,—and Thou ...

The Scanty Stock we set our hearts uponStill dwindles and declines until anon,Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face,It lights us for an hour and then—is gone.

IX

Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clearsTodayof past Regrets and future Fears—Tomorrow!—Why, Tomorrow I may beIn Canada or Scotland or Algiers!Yes, make the most of what we still may spend;The last Drop’s lingering Taste may yet transcendAnticipation’s Bliss—though we are leftSans Wine, Sans Song, Sans Singer, and—Sans End.

The Scanty Stock we set our hearts upon ...

XI

Alike for those who for the Drouth preparedAnd those who, like myself, more poorly fared,Fond Memory weaves Roseate Shrouds to dressDeparted Spirits we have loved—and shared.Myself when young did eagerly frequentThe gilded Bar, and all my Lucre spentFor bottled Joyousness, but evermoreCame out less steadily than in I went.

XIII

The legal Finger writes; and having writ,Moves on—and neither Thirst nor WitHas lured it back to cancel half a lineTo give a Man excuse for being lit.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
The gilded Bar ...

And Bill the Bootlegger—the Infidel!—When He takes my last Cent for just a SmellOf Hooch, I wonder what Bootleggers buyOne half so precious as the Stuff they sell.

XV

Oh Bill, Who dost with White Mule and with GinBeset the Road I am to Wander in,If I am garnered of the Law, wilt Thou,All piously, Impute my Fall to Sin?...