Day-colored wine,

        night-colored wine,

        or opaz blood,

        wine,

        starry child

        of earth,

        h

        as a golden sword,

        soft

        as lascivious velvet,

        wine, spiral-seashelled

        and full of wonder,

        amorous,

        marine;

        never    tained you,

        one song, one man,

        you are choral, gregarious,

        at t, you must be shared.

        At times

        you feed on mortal

        memories;

        your wave carries us

        from tomb to tomb,

        stoer of icy sepulchers,

        and we weep

        transitory tears;

        your

        glorious

        spring dress

        is different,

        blood rises ts,

        es the day,

        not

        of your immutable soul.

        ine

        stirs the spring, happiness

        bursts t,

        walls crumble,

        and rocky cliffs,

        chasms close,

        as song is born.

        A jug of hou beside me

        in the wilderness,

        sang t poet.

        Let tcher

        add to ts own.

        My darling, suddenly

        the line of your hip

        bees the brimming curve

        of t,

        your breast is ter,

        your nipples are the grapes,

        ts lights your hair,

        and your navel is a ce seal

        stamped on the vessel of your belly,

        your love an inexible

        cascade of wine,

        lig illuminates my senses,

        thly splendor of life.

        But you are more than love,

        the fiery kiss,

        t of fire,

        more the wine of life;

        you are

        ty of man,

        translucy,

        chorus of discipline,

        abundance of flowers.

        I like on table,

        when were speaking,

        t of a bottle

        of intelligent wine.

        Drink it,

        and remember in every

        drop of gold,

        iopaz glass,

        in every purple ladle,

        t autumn labored

        to fill th wine;

        and in tual of his office,

        let the simple man remember

        to ty,

        tate ticle of the wine.
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