Mare Rubrum

1858     Flash out a stream of blood-red wine,     For I would drink to other days,     And brighter shall their memory shine,     Seen flaming through its crimson blaze!     The roses die, the summers fade,     But every ghost of boyhood's dream     By nature's magic power is laid     To sleep beneath this blood-red stream!     It filled the purple grapes that lay,     And drank the splendors of the sun,     Where the long summer's cloudless day     Is mirrored in the broad Garonne;     It pictures still the bacchant shapes     That saw their hoarded sunlight shed, -     The maidens dancing on the grapes, -     Their milk-white ankles splashed with red.     Beneath these waves of crimson lie,     In rosy fetters prisoned fast,     Those flitting shapes that never die, -     The swift-winged visions of the past.     Kiss but the crystal's mystic rim,     Each shadow rends its flowery chain,     Springs in a bubble from its brim,     And walks the chambers of the brain.     Poor beauty! Time and fortune's wrong     No shape nor feature may withstand;     Thy wrecks are scattered all along,     Like emptied sea-shells on the sand;     Yet, sprinkled with this blushing rain,     The dust restores each blooming girl,     As if the sea-shells moved again     Their glistening lips of pink and pearl.     Here lies the home of school-boy life,     With creaking stair and wind-swept hall,     And, scarred by many a truant knife,     Our old initials on the wall;     Here rest, their keen vibrations mute,     The shout of voices known so well,     The ringing laugh, the wailing flute,     The chiding of the sharp-tongued bell.     Here, clad in burning robes, are laid     Life's blossomed joys, untimely shed,     And here those cherished forms have strayed     We miss awhile, and call them dead.     What wizard fills the wondrous glass?     What soil the enchanted clusters grew?     That buried passions wake and pass     In beaded drops of fiery dew?     Nay, take the cup of blood-red wine, -     Our hearts can boast a warmer glow,     Filled from a vintage more divine,     Calmed, but not chilled, by winter's snow!     To-night the palest wave we sip     Rich as the priceless draught shall be     That wet the bride of Cana's lip, -     The wedding wine of Galilee!