Through those old Grounds of memory, The sauntering alone Is a divine intemperance A prudent man would shun. Of liquors that are vended ’Tis easy to beware But statutes do not meddle With the internal bar. Pernicious as the sunset Permitting to pursue But impotent to gather, The tranquil perfidy Alloys our firmer moments With that severest gold Convenient to the longing But otherwise withheld.
