Cliff Klingenhagen had me in to dine <br />With him one day; and after soup and meat, <br />And all the other things there were to eat, <br />Cliff took two glasses and filled one with wine <br />And one with wormwood. Then, without a sign <br />For me to choose at all, he took the draught <br />Of bitterness himself, and lightly quaffed <br />It off, and said the other one was mine. <br /> <br />And when I asked him what the deuce he meant <br />By doing that, he only looked at me <br />And smiled, and said it was a way of his. <br />And though I know the fellow, I have spent <br />Long time a-wondering when I shall be <br />As happy as Cliff Klingenhagen is.<br /><br />Edwin Arlington Robinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cliff-klingenhagen/
