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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477615" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>At the Tavern</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=477615" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A lilt and a swing, <br> And a ditty to sing,<br> Or ever the night grow old;<br> The wine is within,<br> And I'm sure t'were a sin<br> For a soldier to choose to be cold, my dear,<br> For a soldier to choose to be cold.<br> We're right for a spell,<br> But the fever is -- well,<br> No thing to be braved, at least;<br> So bring me the wine;<br> No low fever in mine,<br> For a drink more kind than a priest, my dear,<br> For a drink is more kind than a <br> priest.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Paul+Laurence+Dunbar">Paul Laurence Dunbar</a></strong></div>

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