Dedication 



At beginning of man's civilization, ages old, 



When the Sumerian, Canaanite savage, dark, 



Strolled along the banks of Euphrates, 



And, tired of wandering, settled Nippur town, 



He longingly remembered the wild sweet grapes 



That climbed the trees upon the hills he left, 



And which, all lovely, fringed the Caspian, so grand. 



He sought a holiday and hied himself away to seek 



Among the dear old hills of Ararat, for grapes, 



Where Noah landed safe, and later got so drunk, poor man! 



(His better sons, walking backward, to hide his shame, 



Soft spread in charity over him a lion's skin.) 



Reaching the loved old haunts, all weary and worn, 



He ate his fill of many juicy grapes so sweet, 



As long before, when roving wild in Bactrian. 



And then on camel's back great loads of grape-filled vines 



He took to treat his wives and babes in Nippur town. 



The seeds were scattered round the huts of mud ; 



Some grew and clambered up the walls, and bloomed all sweet, 



At length bore fruit, and cooled the huts with shade ; 



Some few bore better grapes than from the wilds he brought ; 



Such vines he loved and saved and kindly trained, betimes. 



He always gathered from the new and better vines, 



And planted vacant places with their seeds, select; 



He gave to kith and kin, who likewise grew and gave. 



Thus on and on, through old, ten thousand years, 



Have come adown to all mankind the twining vines 



Of Ararat, in Muscats, Flame Tokays and Cornichons. 



The sons of men still hand them on with loving care, 



Well mingled with those from our free American hills. 



And now, to all who love the vines and grapes and wines, 



This book is dedication fruit of one of Noah's sons, 



Who wishes cause no more to backward spread the lion's skin, 



But plant and eat and drink, and ne'er get drunk. 



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