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Paul Laurence Dunbar - At the Tavern

A lilt and a swing, 
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 in mine,
For a drink more kind than a priest, my dear,
For a drink is more kind than a 
priest. 

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At the Tavern - Comments and Information

Poet: Paul Laurence Dunbar
Poem: At the Tavern
Poem of the Day: Jul 3 2010
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