Page:Poems of Baudelaire Sturm.djvu/125

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eve in the bottle sang the soul of wine:
 * "Man, unto thee, dear disinherited,

I sing a song of love and light divine—
 * Prisoned in glass beneath my seals of red.

"I know thou labourest on the hill of fire,
 * In sweat and pain beneath a flaming sun,

To give the life and soul my vines desire,
 * And I am grateful for thy labours done.

"For I find joys unnumbered when I lave
 * The throat of man by travail long outworn,

And his hot bosom is a sweeter grave
 * Of sounder sleep than my cold caves forlorn.

"Hearest thou not the echoing Sabbath sound?
 * The hope that whispers in my trembling breast?

Thy elbows on the table! gaze around;
 * Glorify me with joy and be at rest.