Mandragora

Pour me red wine from out the Venice flask,
------Pour faster, faster yet!
The joy of ruby thought, I do not ask,
------Bid me forget!

Breathe slumbrous music round me, sweet and slow,
------To honied phrases set!
Into the land of dreams I long to go.
------Bid me forget!

Lay not the rose's bloom against my cheek,
------With chill tears she is wet.
The wrinkled poppy is the flower I seek.
------Bid me forget!

Where is delight? And what are pleasures now?
------Moths that a garment fret.
The world is turned memorial, crying, "Thou
------shalt not forget!"


by Mary E. Coleridge