The wine was sweeter yesterday, The tables of the street cafe Held Pernod and Grand Marnier; The syrup of the summer day, Untainted by the clink of ice But side by side with scent of spice Came poems from the flashing pen. The wine was sweeter then. When skies were bluer yesterday, The longer summers went their way From year to year and day to day; To sing a drunken roundelay On nights it never seemed to rain; To sing the poem once again With gaiety remembering when The skies were bluer then. The firelight flickers playing games With pine-log perfume in the flames Went dancing on the window panes As winter's daylight slowly wanes. And shadows that are soft and warm Kept flickering as they performed Mazurkas in the winter's night. The fire flickers bright. The memories have never gone, For something somewhere lingers on That conjured by nostalgia's wand Comes silently from far beyond; From pastures where the grass grew high And green within the memories eye. The memories do themselves fulfil. The wine is sweeter still.