“Wine is one of the most civilized things in the world and one of the most natural things of the world that has been brought to the greatest perfection, and it offers a greater range for enjoyment and appreciation than, possibly, any other purely sensory thing.” 

― Ernest Hemingway

Hello Everyone-

Linda here from sunny Arizona, and it’s time again for dVerse’s own creation- the Quadrille. For those of you new to dVerse, the quadrille is a 44 word poem exactly, excluding the title. The word today is Wine or any form thereof, or even one you create containing the word and it must be used within the poem.

Recently, I started watching Stanley Tucci: Searching for Italy on CNN and it’s fascinating. In the episode about Florence, I learned this positively lovely tidbit. There were once small wine windows throughout the city.

Here is some information about them from Atlas Obscura:

In 1559, Cosimo de’ Medici decreed that noble families could sell the wine from their vineyards directly out of their palaces.  Anyone on the street could knock on the windows built into the façades of the Renaissance palaces to indicate they wanted to purchase wine. A servant would take the customer’s empty bottle and their payment, refill the bottle down in the cellar, and hand it back out to the street. 

But as the centuries progressed, the noble palaces were sold and turned into hotels or apartments. By the 20th century, grabbing a bottle of wine through a little window on the street was only a memory. 

Isn’t that so cool? Here is a  link to an article from Afar.com about how they are being revived during this pandemic: Italy’s Plague-Era “Wine Windows” Return for Pandemic-Proof Drink Service

I also had no problem finding poems about wine, so sharing a couple with you. Wine has been an inspiration for poets for centuries.

Fragment: The Vine- Shroud 

-Percy Shelley

Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glow

Beneath the autumnal sun, none taste of thee;

For thou dost shroud a ruin, and below

The rotting bones of dead antiquity.

I Bring An Unaccustomed Wine

Poem 132

By Emily Dickinson

I bring an unaccustomed wine

To lips long parching

Next to mine,

And summon them to drink;

Crackling with fever, they Essay,

I turn my brimming eyes away,

And come next hour to look.

The hands still hug the tardy glass

The lips I would have cooled, alas

Are so superfluous Cold

I would as soon attempt to warm

The bosoms where the frost has lain

Ages beneath the mould

Some other thirsty there may be

To whom this would have pointed me

Had it remained to speak

And so I always bear the cup

If, haply, mine may be the drop

Some pilgrim thirst to slake

If, haply, any say to me

Unto the little, unto me,

When I at last awake.

So tonight I’ll be serving up anything and everything wine; we’ve got red, white, and all the colors in between. Or perhaps you prefer a wine cocktail- spritzers, mulled wine, sparkling cocktails, or sangria!

Here’s how to join in:

• Write a quadrille as described above. Post it on your blog or website.
• Enter your name and direct link to your poem in Mr. Linky.
• Remember to check the box re: privacy policy.
• Follow the links to other poets. Read and comment. Come back to read more as the prompt is open all week.
• Link back to dVerse so others can find us too.
• Drop in to say hello in our discussion below.
• Have fun!