Scattered and trampled ! Yet I find some good
Saith no grace after meat. My wine hath run
On any leaf but Heavens. Be fully done,
To gather up the bread of my repast
Who, satisfying thirst and breaking fast
Upon the fulness of the heart, at last
Clear from the darkling ground, -- content until
Indeed out of my cup, and there is none
Supernal Will ! I would not fain be one
In earths green herbs, and streams that bubble up
Dear Christ ! when thy new vintage fills my cup,
I sit with angels before better food.
Past and Future.
This hand shall shake no more, nor that wine spill.
ill not copy fair my past