Ambergris

FROM A TALE OF ARCHAIS Song Ere the grape of joy is golden With the summer and the sun, Ere the maidens unbeholden Gather one by one, To the vineyard comes the shower, No sweet rain to fresh the flower But the thunder rain that cleaves, Rends and ruins tender leaves. Ere the wine of perfect pleasure From a perfect chalice poured, Swells the veins with such a measure As the garden’s lord Makes his votaries dance to, death Draws with soft delicious breath To the maiden and the man. Love and life are both a span. Ere the crimson lips have planted Paler roses, warmer grapes, Ere the maiden breasts have panted, And the sunny shapes Flit around to bless the hour, Comes men know not what false flower : Ere the cup is drained, the wine Grows unsweet, that was divine. All the subtle airs are proven False at dewfall ; at the dawn Sin and sorrow, interwoven, Like a veil are drawn Over love and all delight.