Autumn Sunshine

The sun sets out the autumn crocuses         And fills them up a pouring measure         Of death-producing wine, till treasure     Runs waste down their chalices.     All, all Persephone's pale cups of mould         Are on the board, are over-filled;         The portion to the gods is spilled;     Now, mortals all, take hold!     The time is now, the wine-cup full and full         Of lambent heaven, a pledging-cup;         Let now all mortal men take up     The drink, and a long, strong pull.     Out of the hell-queen's cup, the heaven's pale wine -         Drink then, invisible heroes, drink.         Lips to the vessels, never shrink,     Throats to the heavens incline.     And take within the wine the god's great oath         By heaven and earth and hellish stream         To break this sick and nauseous dream     We writhe and lust in, both.     Swear, in the pale wine poured from the cups of the queen         Of hell, to wake and be free         From this nightmare we writhe in,     Break out of this foul has-been.