Bacchus

    In the belly¹ of the grape

    Or grew on vine whose tap-roots reaching through

    Under the Andes to the Cape²

    Suffer'd no savour of the earth to 'scape.

    Let its grapes the morn salute³

    From a nocturnal root

    Which feels the acrid⁴ juice

    Of Styx and Erebus；

    And turns the woe⁵ of Night

    By its own craft to a more rich delight.

    We buy ashes for bread；

    We buy diluted⁶ wine；

    Give me of the true

    Whose ample leaves and tendrils curl'd

    Among the silver hills of heaven

    Draw everlasting⁷ dew；

    Wine of wine

    Blood of the world

    Form of forms and mould of statures

    That I intoxicated⁸

    And by the draught⁹ assimilated

    May float at pleasure through all natures；

    The bird-language rightly spell

    And that which roses say so well：

    Wine that is shed

    Like the torrents¹⁰ of the sun

    Up the horizon walls

    Or like the Atlantic streams which run

    When the South Sea calls.

    Water and bread

    Food which needs no transmuting¹¹

    Rainbow-flowering wisdom-fruiting

    Wine which is already man

    Food which teach and reason can.

    Wine which Music is —

    Music and wine are one —

    That I drinking this

    Shall hear far Chaos¹² talk with me；

    Kings unborn shall walk with me；

    And the poor grass shall plot and plan

    What it will do when it is man.

    Quicken'd so will I unlock

    Every crypt of every rock.

    I thank the joyful¹³ juice

    For all I know；

    Winds of remembering

    Of the ancient being blow

    And seeming-solid walls of use

    Open and flow.

    Pour Bacchus！ the remembering wine；

    Retrieve¹⁴ the loss of me and mine！

    Vine for vine be antidote¹⁵

    And the grape requite¹⁶ the lote！

    Haste to cure the old despair；

    Reason in Nature's lotus drench'd—

    The memory of ages quench'd—

    Give them again to shine；

    Let wine repair what this undid¹⁷；

    And where the infection slid

    A dazzling memory revive；

    Refresh the faded tints¹⁸

    Recut the agèd prints

    And write my old adventures with the pen

    Which on the first day drew

    Upon the tablets blue

    The dancing Pleiads and eternal men.