ABSINTHE.

Absinthe

Absinthe, mother of all happiness, O
infinite liquor, you glint in my glass
green and pale like the eyes of the
mistress I once loved. Absinthe, mother
of happiness, like Her, you leave in the
body a memory of distant pain; absinthe,
mother of insane rages and of staggering
drunkeness, where one can say without
thinking oneself mad that one is loved
by one's mistress. Absinthe, your
fragrance smoothes me... - Gustave Kahn.