Wine, Water, and Song

by G. K. Chesterton

The song of the sorrow of Tara is sung to a harp unstrung,

The song of the cheerful Shropshire Lad I consider a perfectly horrid song,

And the song of the happy Futurist is a song that can't be sung.

But who will write us a riding song

Or a fighting song or a drinking song,

Fit for the fathers of you and me,

That knew how to think and thrive?

But the song of Beauty and Art and Love

Is simply an utterly stinking song,

To double you up and drag you down