We—Bee and I—live

We—Bee and I—live
In the quaffing.
'T isn't all hock with us,
Life has its ale—
But it's many a lay of
The dim Burgundy
We chant for cheer when
The wines fail.
Do we "get drunk?"
Ask the jolly clovers!
Do we "beat our wife?"
I never wed.
Bee pledges his in minutest
Flagons,
Dainty as the tress on her
Deft head.
While runs the Rhine
He and I revel—
First at the vat and
Latest at the vine;
Noon—our last cup.
"Found dead of nectar"
By a humming Coroner
In a by-thyme.