At Marliave's
By Arthur Macy
At Marliave's when eventide
Finds rare companions at my side,
The laughter of each merry guest
At quaint conceit, or kindly jest,
Makes golden moments swiftly glide.
No voice unkind our faults to chide,
Our smallest virtue magnified;
And friendly hand to hand is pressed
At Marliave's.
I lay my years and cares aside
Accepting what the gods provide,
I ask not for a lot more blest,
Nor do I crave a sweeter rest
Than that which comes with eventide
At Marliave's.