Prohibition

“I wouldn’t mind if it were gin!” he said,
“Good gin’s like ether, sick with pungent sweet,
And rum I never liked—not even neat!
Champagne and such stuck pins into my head.
Old port was sunlight where a ruby bled.
The silky-bright liqueurs had twinkling feet
Like gipsy children running down a street;
And beer’s as old a brother as good bread.

Still, I could give them up!” he mused and sighed
Like a poor scrawny gust of city wind,
“But it’s the precedent that’s bad! You’ll find
Things worse Hereafter ... I’d a friend who died.
And ... well, damned souls had never much to tell....
But now they’ve stopped the Lethe, down in Hell!”