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 spirit will not all renounce her lore.
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"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."
"Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!"
"Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine Must drown the memory of that insolence!"
"There was a Door to which I found no Key: There was a Veil past which I could not see: Some little Talk awhile of Me and Thee There was—and then no more of Thee and Me."
"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."
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