Poetry Archives

My friend spoke with insinuating tongue:
  “Drink wine, and thy flesh shall be made whole.  Look how
   it hisses in the leathern bottle like a captured serpent.”
Oh fool! can the sun be forged into a cask stopped with
  earthly bungs.  I know not that the power of wine has ever
  overmastered my sorrows; for these mighty giants I have found
  as yet no resting-place.