Day-colored wine,

    night-colored wine,

    or opaz blood,

    wine,

    starry child

    of earth,

    h

    as a golden sword,

    soft

    as lascivious velvet,

    wine, spiral-seashelled

    and full of wonder,

    amorous,

    marine;

    never  contained you,

    one song, one man,

    you are choral, gregarious,

    at t, you must be shared.

    At times

    you feed on mortal

    memories;

    your wave carries us

    from tomb to tomb,

    stonecutter of icy sepulchers,

    and we weep

    transitory tears;

    your

    glorious

    spring dress

    is different,

    blood rises ts,

    es the day,

    not

    of your immutable soul.

    ine

    stirs the spring, happiness

    bursts t,

    walls crumble,

    and rocky cliffs,

    chasms close,

    as song is born.

    A jug of hou beside me

    in the wilderness,

    sang t poet.

    Let tcher

    add to ts own.

    My darling, suddenly

    the line of your hip

    becomes the brimming curve

    of t,

    your breast is ter,

    your nipples are the grapes,

    ts lights your hair,

    and your navel is a ce seal

    stamped on the vessel of your belly,

    your love an inexible

    cascade of wine,

    lig illuminates my senses,

    thly splendor of life.

    But you are more than love,

    the fiery kiss,

    t of fire,

    more the wine of life;

    you are

    ty of man,

    translucency,

    chorus of discipline,

    abundance of flowers.

    I like on table,

    when were speaking,

    t of a bottle

    of intelligent wine.

    Drink it,

    and remember in every

    drop of gold,

    in every topaz glass,

    in every purple ladle,

    t autumn labored

    to fill th wine;

    and in tual of his office,

    let the simple man remember

    to ty,

    to propagate ticle of the wine.