At the Tavern (by Paul Laurence Dunbar)

Paul Laurence Dunbar, 1872-1906
(Dayton, Ohio)
At the Tavern
And a ditty to sing,
Or ever the night grow old;
The wine is within,
And I'm sure 't were a sin
For a soldier to choose to be cold, my dear,
For a soldier to choose to be cold.
We're right for a spell,
But the fever is—well,
No thing to be braved, at least;
So bring me the wine;
No low fever is mine,
For a drink is more kind than a priest, my dear,
For a drink is more kind than a priest.





This makes it sound so romantic to drink.. Till you get to the last few lines... which seem to me to be sort of a punch line.
"... for a drink is more kind than a priest."
It implies a lot... i think.
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Indeed! In a sense it's different from the other Dunbar pieces I've posted here - but it's still as deep. Thanks for your comment, Chris!
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