Rose & Liquor : Whiskey

By
The world is but a theater of lies
Where perfidy is masked in velvet lace
I turn from mocking tongues and judging eyes
To find a hermitage in this dim place

I summon forth the spirit of the grain
Whose amber hue outshines the morning sun
It seeks not to augment my heavy pain
Nor counts the trespasses that I have done

The wherefore of my grief it doth not ask
Nor pries into the closet of my soul
It wears no counterfeit or smiling mask
But stays a constant in this wooden bowl

When I do heap reproaches on my head
And call myself a vassal to my shame
The whiskey brings no buffet in their stead
Nor speaks with cloven tongue my ruined name

It bides in silence like a faithful page
A staunch attendant to my weary mind
It doth not mock the dotage of my age
Nor fly like fickle love upon the wind

My shrieking conscience findeth here a balm
A nepenthe to drown the stinging thought
It brings a monastic and holy calm
That neither gold nor flattery hath bought

Let Boreas howl against the tavern door
And Discord shake the foundations of the earth
I pace no more upon the cankered floor
Nor weigh the hollow measure of my worth

It stayeth fixed until I bid adieu
A paragon of patience in the glass
More leal than any heart I ever knew
While all the fleeting phantoms softly pass

My heavy mazard sinks upon the wood
By lethargy’s sweet poison gently bound
I find at last that solitude is good
Where no upbraiding echoes can be found

I sleep within this sacred golden haze
Beyond the reach of punic oath and knife
To end the labyrinth of bitter days
And find a respit from the war of life