They that eat the uncrushed grape
Walk with steady heels:
Lo, now, how they stare and gape
Where the poet reels!
He has drunk the sheer divine
Concentration of the vine.
A FRIEND'S WISH. To C. W. S.
Give me your last _Aloha_,
When I go out of sight,
Over the dark rim of the sea
Into the Polar night!
And all the Northland give you
_Skoal_ for the voyage begun,
When your bright summer sail goes down
Into the zones of sun!