Come, drink the mystic wine of Night,
Brimming with silence and the stars;
While earth, bathed in this holy light,
Is seen without its scars.
Drink in the daring and the dews,
The calm winds and the restless gleam--
This is the draught that Beauty brews;
Drink--it is the Dream....
Drink, oh my soul, and do not yield--
These solitudes, this wild-rose air
Shall strengthen thee, shall be thy shield
Against the world’s despair.
Oh, quaff this stirrup-cup of stars
Trembling with hope and high desire--
Then back into the hopeless wars
With faith and fire!
“THEM OLD MOTH-EATEN LOVYERS”