THE COOKTAIL.

THE COOKTAIL.
409.1

Warmer of the heart! the key to lips
That otherwise were sealed to me;
Opener of love’s gates, wherein I see
The realms of joy and feel warm finger tips
About my neck. Thou makest me oft surmise
A sweet abandon in my lady’s eyes.

Amber-hued panacea for my woes and ills,
Thou needst no cursed encomium from those
Who try sweet resignation for their woes,
And claim thy warmth and peace the pace that kills.
Without thy charms there still would flourish sin-
Why weep if thy warm kisses let the devil in?

Poised in the air my glass, I quaff to thee,
Maker and breaker of a thousand bonds;
Cares disappear when wave thy magic wands,
And wedlock’s prison sets its captives free.
Weaver of destinies! Progenitor of thought and wit!
Life would be unworth while with thee immune from it.
-Charles Ellmore Nettleton.