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Whenever one wants to write poetry, I think it is not the time to drink coffee.
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But Tom, an academic friend of mine sincerely believes that the poetry of "wit" in the 18th C. was entirely the product of the rage for coffee houses.
Without coffee we wouldn't have this passage from Pope's
The Rape of the Lock:
For lo! the board with cups and spoons is crowned
The berries crackle, and the mill turns round;
On shining altars of Japan they raise
The silver lamp; the fiery spirits blaze:
From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide,
While China's earth receives the smoking tide:
At once they gratify their scent and taste,
And frequent cups prolong the rich repast.
Straight hover round the fair her airy band;
Some, as she sipped, the fuming liquor fanned,
Some o'er her lap their careful plumes displayed,
Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade.
Coffee (which makes the politician wise,
And see through all things with his half-shut eyes)
Sent up in vapours to the Baron's brain
New stratagems, the radiant lock to gain.
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