A CUP OF TEA.

By James Whitcomb Riley

I have sipped, with drooping lashes,

Dreamy draughts of Verzenay;

I have flourished brandy-smashes

In the wildest sort of way;

I have joked with “Tom and Jerry”

Till wee hours ayont the twal’ —

But I've found my tea the very

Safest tipple of them all!

‘ Tis a mystical potation

That exceeds in warmth of glow

And divine exhilaration

All the drugs of long ago —

All of old magicians’ potions —

Of Medea's filtered spells —

Or of fabled isles and oceans

Where the Lotos-eater dwells!

Though I've reveled o'er late lunches

With blasé dramatic stars,

And absorbed their wit and punches

And the fumes of their cigars —

Drank in the latest story,

With a cock-tail either end,—

I have drained a deeper glory

In a cup of tea, my friend.

Green, Black, Moyune, Formosa,

Congou, Amboy, Pingsuey —

No odds the name it knows — ah!

Fill a cup of it for me!

And, as I clink my china

Against your goblet's brim,

My tea in steam shall twine a

Fragrant laurel round its rim.