The glass broke in a thousand pieces
And not one head turned,
Rolling laughter and more glasses passed
As hearts and then throats burned.
Ah! The lively spirit seemed to
Shame the melancholy of earth;
Brave hearts came here, some broken,
But all to enjoy this birth.
Now not the losses of life troubled
Even when there was nothing for dear mouth.
Life was to live, they said,
‘O for a cup of warm South…’*
"Stranger there, why do you engage
In gaiety such, how carefree you look!
Did not life give less than it took?"
Oh! The smile was quaint and the voice was such:
"My friend, we differ by much-
You drink to live
And I live to drink.
O for a cup of wine I die
For which I spend my last pie."
-2\12\98,Calcutta-63

COMMENTS :

There are those who drink to live and there are those who live to drink. Bacchus (the Roman god of wine and, with this connotation, synonymous with wine) has always lent a prop to those who had to bear a disproportionate burden. Socrates had said that if humanity was asked to heap all its troubles and grief in one big pile, each would be only too happy to take his part and depart. Like in most cases he was only too right. But there is this category of people who just live to drink- they have no other business than to go to bed drunk and then rise up late to go to the tavern again. Life attains a different dimension and definition.

* Ode to a Nightingale, John Keats