 | Fantasy and Passion |  |
WINE.
I am a spirit strong and glad,
In gold or purple proudly clad,
With eyes of fire and fragrant breath,
Lovely, but crueller than death!
In gold or purple proudly clad,
With eyes of fire and fragrant breath,
Lovely, but crueller than death!
Through days my protean soul has hung
In lucid clusters, richly strung
Through many a spacious green expanse
Of beauteous and historic France!
In lucid clusters, richly strung
Through many a spacious green expanse
Of beauteous and historic France!
Below blue deeps of laughing skies
My soul has laughed, in soft surprise,
To hear what merry pleasure stirs
The voices of the vintagers!
My soul has laughed, in soft surprise,
To hear what merry pleasure stirs
The voices of the vintagers!
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But though at many a revel flit
The rapid javelins of my wit,
Though joy obeys me, though regret
May quaff my Lethe and forget,
The rapid javelins of my wit,
Though joy obeys me, though regret
May quaff my Lethe and forget,
Still do I love by stealth to wind
My subtle spells o'er heart and mind,
Till sacred secrets, treasured dear,
Are babbled in some greedy ear!
My subtle spells o'er heart and mind,
Till sacred secrets, treasured dear,
Are babbled in some greedy ear!
And I have loved to pluck aside
The mask from malice, envy, pride;
To strip fair flesh from deeds, and show
What bony motives grin below!
The mask from malice, envy, pride;
To strip fair flesh from deeds, and show
What bony motives grin below!
For when I cheer the kindliest him
Who courts me at his goblet's brim;
When I am blandest, warmest, then
Most deadly is my hate of men!
Who courts me at his goblet's brim;
When I am blandest, warmest, then
Most deadly is my hate of men!
Nor is to me that moment sweet
When solemn mourners dumbly meet,
And dying lips are lifted up
To touch my sacramental cup,—
When solemn mourners dumbly meet,
And dying lips are lifted up
To touch my sacramental cup,—
But keenlier does the moment please
If my drugged lover wakes and sees,
Like one who vaguely understands,
The red crime crusted on his hands!
If my drugged lover wakes and sees,
Like one who vaguely understands,
The red crime crusted on his hands!
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