DRINK FOR SALE.
“WHAT BLOSSOMS ARE YOU STEWING, WHAT ROOTS AND CREEPING THINGS?”
HE ANSWERED: “IN MY CALDRON ARE THREADS FROM COMETS WINGS,
THE VIOLETS OF THE ANGELS, AND DEW FROM EDENS HILL,
AND GRAPES OF OLD ENGEDI; GOOD BROTHER DRINK YOUR FILL.
ONE CUP WILL WARM YOUR HEART WITH LOVE: THE PRICE, A PIECE OF GOLD”
I WAITED TILL THE FLAME WAS DEAD, THE LIQUOR CLEAR AND COLD:
IN THE BOTTOM OF THE CALDRON WERE THE HEADS OF DOGS AND MEN,
AND WINGS OF LARKS AND ROBINS WHO WILL NEVER SING AGAIN.
ABOVE THE CUP HE FILLED, I SAW THE SOULS OF RATS IN FLIGHT,
SO I DID NOT BUY HIS LIQUOR, AND I BADE THE DWARF GOODNIGHT.
NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY, RHYMER AND DESIGNER
