Day and night my thoughts incline
To the blandishments of wine:
Jars were made to drain, I think,
Wine, I know, was made to drink.

When I die (the day be far!),
Should the potters make a jar
Out of this poor clay of mine,
Let the jar be filled with wine!

Richard Henry Stoddard

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/day-and-night-my-thoughts-incline/