Stanzas to Pale Ale

(This poem is in honor of the delightful brew served at Motor City Brewery - cheers!)

Stanzas to Pale Ale

Oh! I have loved thee fondly, ever
Preferr’d thee to the choicest wine;
From thee my lips they could not sever
By saying thou contain’dst strychnine
Did I believe the slander? Never!
I held thee still to be divine.

For me thy color hath a charm,
Although ’tis true they call thee Pale;
And be thou cold when I am warm,
As late I’ve been—so high the scale
Of Fahrenheit—and febrile harm
Allay, refrigerating Ale!

How sweet thou art!—yet bitter, too;
And sparkling, like satiric fun;
But how much better thee to brew,
Than a conundrum or a pun,
It is, in every point of view,
Must be allow’d by every one.

Refresh my heart and cool my throat,
Light, airy child of malt and hops!
That dost not stuff, engross, and bloat
The skin, the sides, the chin, the chops,
And burst the buttons off the coat,
Like stout and porter—fattening slops!