Drunkard of Life

By Elsa Gidlow

Drunkard of life as any bee of sweets,
Lover of the swift race, the good battle
Of man against nature,
Man against fate,
Full-hearted lover
Of life's laughing lustihood—
Could he accept
And drink
And drain
The mild cup of age?

The poet knows when his last song has broken
From lips that turn no longer to warm life;
He knows, he knows
The meaning of a touch
Cold on his forehead,
Colder on his limbs.
Let us not blame this one who when he felt
Life dead in his heart
Scorned the slow dying
Of tardy flesh…

Overland Monthly and Out West Magazine (1868-1935); Dec 1927; Volume LXXXV, Number 12, pg 372.