WHO deems the soul to endless death is thrall, That no life breathes beyond that moment dire, When every sense @3seems@1 lost as outblown fire; -- Must walk, clothed round with darkness like a pall, Or on false gods of sensual rapture call; @3Pluck the rich rose-leaves! lift the wine cup higher! Wed delicate Instinct to malign Desire,@1 (@3Like some Greek girl clasped by a barbarous Gaul!@1) Thus Omar preached, thus practised, centuries since; Wine, beauty, idlesse, orgies crowned by lust; All these he chanted in voluptuous song; Yet who shall vow, deep Thinker! poet Prince! Thy rhythmic creed the unnatural voice of wrong, @3If man, dust-born, shall still return to dust?@1 |