Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/120

 Before mine eyes, like shapes of life, Kindling old loves and deadly strife.

Drink to me first!—nay do not scorn These sparkling dews of night; I pledge thee in the silver horn Of yonder moonlet bright: 'Tis stinted measure now, but soon Thy cup shall overflow; It half was spilled two hours agone, That little flowers might grow, And weave for me fine robes of silk; For which good deeds, stars drop them milk.

Nay, take the horn into thy hand, The goodly silver horn, And quaff it off. At my command Each flower-cup, ere the mom, Shall brimful be of glittering dews, And then we'll have large store Of heaven's own vintage ripe for use, To pledge our healths thrice o'er; So skink the can as maiden free, Then troll the merry bowl to me!