So Noah, when he anchor'd safe on
The mountain's top, his lofty haven,
And all the passengers read more

So Noah, when he anchor'd safe on
The mountain's top, his lofty haven,
And all the passengers he bore
Were on the new world set ashore,
He made it next his chief design
To plant and propagate a vine,
Which since has overwhelm'd and drown'd
Far greater number, on dry ground,
Of wretched mankind, one by one,
Than all the flood before had done.

Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's
sake and thine often infirmities.

Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's
sake and thine often infirmities.

The wine in the bottell doth not quench thirst.
[The wine in the bottle does not quench thirst.]

The wine in the bottell doth not quench thirst.
[The wine in the bottle does not quench thirst.]

He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the
service of man: that he may read more

He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the
service of man: that he may bring forth food out of the earth;
And wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and oil to make his
face to shine, and bread which strengtheneth man's heart.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise,
For if you do but taste his blood,
read more

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise,
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise,
Twill make a man forget his wo;
'Twill heighten all his joy.

"It wasn't the wine," murmured Mr. Snodgrass in a broken voice,
"it was the salmon."

"It wasn't the wine," murmured Mr. Snodgrass in a broken voice,
"it was the salmon."

I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the
boughs thereof; now read more

I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the
boughs thereof; now also thy breasts shall be as clusters of the
vine, and the smell of thy nose like apples;
And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, that
goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to
speak.

Sing! Who sings
To her who weareth a hundred rings?
Ah, who is this lady fine?
read more

Sing! Who sings
To her who weareth a hundred rings?
Ah, who is this lady fine?
The Vine, boys, the Vine!
The mother of the mighty Wine,
A roamer is she
O'er wall and tree
And sometimes very good company.

The conscious water saw its God and blushed.
- Richard Crashaw,

The conscious water saw its God and blushed.
- Richard Crashaw,