Classic Poem

The Grape! the Grape! the lovely Grape!
'T is the staff of the idiot brave;
It supports them where
The grim fiend Despair
Beckons on to an early grave.
Then, a joy to the Grape!—the lovely Grape!
The staff of the truly brave;
For its juice hath wrought
What the brave have bought—
A right to the Drunkard's Grave.

The Grape! the Grape! the luscious Grape!
How it glows in the sparkling bowl!
How the ruby wine
From the tempting vine
Doth gladden the Drunkard's soul!
But a curse on the Grape! the luscious Grape,
As it glows in the treacherous bowl;
For a scorpion lurks
In its juice, and works
The Doom of the Drunkard's Soul.