Verse > Anthologies > Andrew Macphail, ed. > The Book of Sorrow
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Andrew Macphail, comp.  The Book of Sorrow.  1916.
 
VI. The Grave’s Triumph
The Choice
By Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828–1882)
 
EAT thou and drink; to-morrow thou shalt die.
  Surely the earth, that ’s wise being very old,
  Needs not our help. Then loose me, love, and hold
Thy sultry hair up from my face; that I
May pour for thee this golden wine, brim-high,        5
  Till round the glass thy fingers glow like gold.
  We’ll drown all hours: thy song, while hours are toll’d,
Shall leap, as fountains veil the changing sky.
 
Now kiss, and think that there are really those,
  My own high-bosomed beauty, who increase        10
    Vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose our way!
    Through many years they toil; then comes a day
  They die not,—never having lived,—but cease;
And round their narrow lips the mould falls close.
 
 
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