Page:The Happy Marriage and Other Poems.pdf/74

 shall we call this love of ours? What word Marked from the drinking of another's mouth And streaked with slaking the ancestral drouth And stained with syrups offered to the Lord— What word will hold this wonder: where's the bowl Unused till now and never used for this, Fit for the liquor of our avarice, Spacious to brim this vintage of the soul—

Is there no word, no perfect word but one? Is there no cup but this wherefrom have sipped Sad men and earthy since the morning's sun?