Mood

Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port,

Away with old Hock and madeira,

Too earthy ye are for my sport;

There's a beverage brighter and clearer.

Instead of piriful rummer,

my wine overbrims a whole summer;

My bowl is the sky,

And I drink at my eye,

Till I Feel in the brain

A Delphian Pain-

Then follow, my Caius! then follow:

On the green of the hill

We will drink our fill

Of golden sunshine,

till our brains intertwine

With the glory and grace of Apollo!

-A Draught of Sunshine, John Keats

(photo: justBeSplendid)