The blood of full grapes swells my wooden goblet and my lips drip purple with the stain; I squat and sip, with jaws and chin dripping blue drops of bitter sunshine and sweet rain; while thin passers-by, with cold, dim faces stare, pale as reeds in the veil of a misty river. I am the prophet of the grape who sit begging on the flagged steps before the barred door of eternity. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE CHILD by HAYDEN CARRUTH FOR THE INVESTITURE by CECIL DAY LEWIS FOR REMEMBERING HOW TO LIVE WITHOUT YOU by JAMES GALVIN THE MEASURE OF THE YEAR by JAMES GALVIN ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE, MY LITTLE ONE' by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CHAMBER MUSIC: 14 by JAMES JOYCE A LETTER TO A POLICEMAN IN KANSAS CITY by KENNETH PATCHEN HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 4. DIFFERENCE OF OPINION WITH LYGDAMUS by EZRA POUND |