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Updated: May 15, 2025
All day I drink of the wine and deep In its stainless waves my senses steep; All night my peaceful soul lies drowned In hollows of the cup profound; Again each morn I clamber up The emerald crater of the cup, On massive knobs of jasper stand And view the azure ring expand: I watch the foam-wreaths toss and swim In the wine that o'erruns the jewelled rim, Edges of chrysolite emerge, Dawn-tinted, from the misty surge; My thrilled, uncovered front I lave, My eager senses kiss the wave, And drain, with its viewless draught, the lore That warmeth the bosom's secret core, And the fire that maddens the poet's brain With wild sweet ardor and heavenly pain.
There is another sketch by the same poet: "As when th' impatient greyhound, slipped from far, Bounds o'er the glade to course the fearful hare, She in her speed does all her safety lay, And he with double speed pursues the prey; O'erruns her at the sitting turn, but licks His chaps in vain, yet blows upon the flix; She seeks the shelter, which the neighbouring covert gives, And, gaining it, she doubts if yet she lives."
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