Absinthe Afternoon

“Expect Saint Martin’s summer, halcyon days,

Since I have entered into these wars.

Glory is like a circle in the water,

Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself

Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought.”

— William Shakespeare —

On The Menu:

Preparing Absinthe…

Absinthe Decadent…

Absinthe Quotations

Absinthe Poetry

Absinthe Posters from The Fin de siècle

A Saturday Edition… I must get everything done now, so I can relax, watch the sun go down and have a Drink!

Celebrate the Beauty…!




Preparing Absinthe…


Absinthe Decadent:

Instead of ice water, champagne can be used as the mixer (the slightly decadent option!). In Italy, Franciacorta or Prosecco are often used instead of champagne.


Absinthe Quotations

“After the first glass, you see things as you wish they were.

After the second, you see things as they are not.

Finally, you see things as they really are,

which is the most horrible thing in the world.”

Oscar Wilde

“Let me be mad…

mad with the madness

of Absinthe, the wildest, most

luxurious madness in the world.”

Marie Corelli

“Art is the soul of life and the Old Absinthe House

is heart and soul of the old quarter of New Orleans.”

Aleister Crowley



Poetry: Absinthe

Absinthe – Glenn MacDonough

I will free you first from burning thirst

That is born of a night of the bowl,

Like a sun ’twill rise through the inky skies

That so heavily hang o’er your souls.

At the first cool sip on your fevered lip

You determine to live through the day,

Life’s again worth while as with a dawning smile

You imbibe your absinthe frappé.

Get Drunk! – by Charles-Pierre Baudelaire

One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters;

that’s our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time’s

horrible burden one which breaks your shoulders and bows

you down, you must get drunk without cease.

But with what?

With wine, poetry, or virtue

as you choose.

But get drunk.

And if, at some time, on steps of a palace,

in the green grass of a ditch,

in the bleak solitude of your room,

you are waking and the drunkenness has already abated,

ask the wind, the wave, the stars, the clock,

all that which flees,

all that which groans,

all that which rolls,

all that which sings,

all that which speaks,

ask them, what time it is;

and the wind, the wave, the stars, the birds, and the clock,

they will all reply:

“It is time to get drunk!

So that you may not be the martyred slaves of Time,

get drunk, get drunk,

and never pause for rest!

With wine, poetry, or virtue,

as you choose!”

Even When She Walks…” – by Charles-Pierre Baudelaire

Even when she walks she seems to dance!

Her garments writhe and glisten like long snakes

obedient to the rhythm of the wands

by which a fakir wakens them to grace.

Like both the desert and the desert sky

insensible to human suffering,

and like the ocean’s endless labyrinth

she shows her body with indifference.

Precious minerals are her polished eyes,

and in her strange symbolic nature

angel and sphinx unite,

where diamonds, gold, and steel dissolve into one light,

shining forever, useless as a star,

the sterile woman’s icy majesty.

Five o’clock Absinthe – By Raoul Ponchon

When sundown spreads its hyacinth veil

Over Rastaquapolis

It’s surely time for an absinthe

Don’t you think, my son?

It’s especially in summer, when thirst wears you down

– Like a hundred Dreyfus gossips –

That it’s fitting to seek a fresh terrace

Along the boulevards

Where one finds the best absinthe

That of the sons of Pernod

Forget the rest! They’re like a sharp by Gounod:

mere illusion.

I say along the boulevards, and not in Rome,

Nor at the home of the Bonivards;

To be an absinthier is not to be any less a man.

And on our boulevards

One sees pass the sweetest creatures

With the gentlest manners:

You’re drinking, they rouse your nature,

They are exquisite… but let it pass.

You have your absinthe, it’s all about preparation

This is not, believe me,

As the cynics think, a small matter

Banal and without emotion

The heart should not be elsewhere

For the moment at least.

Absinthe wants first, beautiful ice water

The gods are my witness!

Tepid water, none of that: Jupiter condemns it.

Yourself, what say you?

Might as well, my faith, drink donkey piss

Or enema broth

And don’t come on like a German,

And scare her,

With your carafe; she would think, poor dear!

That you want to drown her.

Always rouse her from the first drop …

Like so … and so … very gently

Then behold her quiver, all vibrant

With an innocent smile;

Water must be for her like dew,

You must be certain about that:

Awaken the juices of which she is made

Only little by little.

Such as a young wife hesitates, startled

When, on her wedding night,

Her husband brusquely invades her bed

Thinking only of himself…

But wait: your absinthe has bloomed in the meantime,

See how she flowers,

Iridescent, passing through every shade of the opal

With a rare spirit.

You may sniff now, she is made;

And the beloved liquor

In the same instant brings joy to your head

And indulgence to your heart …

Sonnet de l’Absinthe – by Raoul Ponchon

Absinthe, oh my lively liquor

It seems, when I drink you,

I inhale the young forest soul

During the beautiful green season.

Your perfume disconcerts me

Aand in your opalescence,

I see the heavens of yore

Aas through an open gate.

What matter, O refuge of the damned,

That you a vain paradise be,

If you appease my need;

And if, before I enter the gate,

You make me put up with life,

By accustoming me with death