The Twilight of the Grape

By George Sterling

Homer, you would have pitied our wan choir,
  Refused to-day the madness of the vine,
  For Chian tapsters poured for you the wine,
And in your ample beard, Song's mighty sire,
Sparkled the ruddy drops above the lyre,
  When, the good cup put by, you smiled and sang,
  To Troy's high doom the cedarn rafters rang,
And red within the flagon gleamed her fire.

Would that, beyond these prim, denuded days,
  We might behold your undisheartened ghost,
  Chanting the tale of Helen's royal sin!
Oh! that we might return your noble gaze
  And lift to her our goblets for a toast,
  Housed for the night at some eternal Inn!

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