XV

Even ye, now old, that to this come as to

Your past, your own joy throw

Into the cup, and with the younger drink

That which now makes you think

Of what love was when love was. (For not now

Your winter thoughts allow).

Drink with the hot day, the bride's sad joy and

The bridegroom's haste inreined,

The memory of that day when ye were young

And, with great paeans sung

Along the surface of the depths of you,

You paired and the night saw

The day come in and you did still pant close,

And still the half-fallen flesh distending rose.