The Wine


I cannot die, who drank delight
From the cup of the crescent moon,
And hungrily as men eat bread,
Loved the scented nights of June.
The rest may die, but is there not
Some shining strange escape for me
Who sought in Beauty the bright wine
Of immortality?


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It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.