And like a winter sea,--
VIII
Whose caverned crags are haunts of wreck and wrath,
That house the condor pinions of the storm,--
My soul replied; and, weeping, arm in arm,
To'ards those dim hills, by that appointed path,
IX
We turned and went. Arrived, we did discern
How Beauty beckoned, white 'mid miles of flowers,
Through which, behold, the amaranthine Hours
Like maidens went each holding up an urn;
X
Wherein, it seemed--drained from long chalices
Of those slim flow'rs--they bore mysterious wine;
A poppied vintage, full of sleep divine
And pale forgetting of all miseries.
XI
Then to my soul I said, "No longer weep.
Come, let us drink; for hateful is the sky,
And earth is full of care, and life's a lie.
So let us drink; yea, let us drink and sleep."
XII
Then from their brimming urns we drank sweet must,
While, all around us, rose-crowned faces laughed
Into our eyes; but hardly had we quaffed
When, one by one, these crumbled into dust.
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