"Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide, And wash the Body whence the Life has died, And in a winding-sheet of Vine-leaf wrapt, So bury me by some sweet Garden-side."

"Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit Of This and That endeavor and dispute; Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit."

"The Grape that can with Logic absolute The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute: The sovereign Alchemist that in a trice Life’s leaden Metal into Gold can transmute."

"The Fire that on my bosom burns, Is not the Fire of Hell; But the Fire of Love, that turns My Soul into a Bell."

"Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before I swore – but was I sober when I swore? And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand My impulsive spirit to the wind I threw."