And then I look'd up toward a mountain-tract, That girt the region with high cliff and lawn: I saw that every morning, far withdrawn Beyond the darkness and the cataract, God made Himself an awful rose of dawn, Unheeded and detaching, fold by fold, From those still heights, and, slowly drawing near, A vapor heavy, hueless, formless, cold, Came floating on for many a month and year, Unheeded and I thought I would have spoken, And warn'd that madman ere it grew too late: But, as in dreams, I could not. Mine was broken, When that cold vapor touch'd the palace.gate, And link'd again. I saw within my head "Wine is good for shrivell'd lips, When a blanket wraps the day, When the rotten woodland drips, And the leaf is stamp'd in clay. "Sit thee down, and have no shame, Cheek by jowl, and knee by knee: What care I for any name? What for order or degree? "Let me screw thee up a peg: Let me loose thy tongue with wine: Callest thou that thing a leg? Which is thinnest ? thine or mine "Thou shalt not be saved by works Thou hast been a sinner too: Ruin'd trunks on wither'd forks, Empty scarecrows, I and you! "Fill the cup, and fill the can : |