The Lost Drink

I had spent the night in the watch-house —

My head was the size of three —

So I went and asked the chemist

To fix up a drink for me;

And he brewed it from various bottles

With soda and plenty of ice,

With something that smelt like lemon,

And something that seemed like spice.

It fell on my parching palate

Like the dew on a sun-baked plain,

And my system began to flourish

Like the grass in a soft spring rain;

It wandered throughout my being,

Suffusing my soul with rest,

And I felt as I “scoffed” that liquid

That life had a new-found zest.

I have been on the razzle-dazzle

Full many a time since then

But I never could get the chemist

To brew me that drink again.

He says he's forgotten the notion —

‘ Twas only by chance it came —

He's tried me with various liquids

But oh! they are not the same.

We have sought, but we sought it vainly,

That one lost drink divine;

We have sampled his various bottles,

But somehow they do n't combine:

Yet I know when I cross the River

And stand on the Golden Shore

I shall meet with an angel-chemist

Who'll brew me that drink once more.