Editor of The Book of Sorrow, from which this sonnet is taken.
The Marriage Feast
I, from whose heart young Love is long time gone
Beyond recall,--and in his secret place
Dull Sorrow soothes with sad, averted face
Her restless sister Pain with visage wan,
Handmaidens of the shadow-footed One
Who comes more slowly than the season's pace
Creeping around the year,--I wish you grace,
As you stand glorious in life's morning sun.
Your blood-red lips are eager at the brim
Of that deep cup, now amply poured for you.
Drink with closed eyes, nor look upon the lees
They only quaff whose joys are memories.
Drink of the bubbles sparkling at the rim,
The dregs are bitter, and your hours are few.