It happened one summer
The poets are our only real conduit for understanding summer love and the role wine plays in it. W.B. Yeats wrote our favorite ode to romance and summer wine.
A DRINKING SONG
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
Nanette Eaton is both a lover of Yeats and a harlot, a Wine Harlot. The ethos there is that Wine Harlots embrace the virtue of vice. Who better then to turn to for an apt description of wine as the perfect prelude to summer love. We’re talking summer love, lost and found.
Summer romances are reminiscent of wine.
Drink them in with wanton abandon.
Eagerly surrendering to earthly pleasures.
Invigorating
Illicit.
Intoxicating.
Blissful, eager, unaware.
Then long days go short, nights become prolonged.
Ephemeral.
Evanescent.
When it’s gone, nothing is left but memories.
Transitory and fleeting, leaving indelible marks on the psyche and palate forever.
Or consider Ernest Dowson.
I cried in summer for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
Our nod to pop culture. The Motels.
It happened one summer, it happened one time
It happened forever, for a short time
A place for a moment, an end to a dream
Forever I loved you, forever it seemed
One summer never ends, one summer never began
It keeps me standing still, it takes all my will
And then suddenly last summer
Sometimes I never leave, but sometimes I would
Sometimes I stay too long, sometimes I would
Sometimes it frightens me, sometimes it would
Sometimes I’m all alone and wish that I could
And then suddenly last summer
