I bring unknown wine to my lips long parch’ng,
And summon them to drink that ruby juice.

My hands hug that cooling translucent glass,
Promis’d heaven, yet it does not reach closely.

Hope, that subtle glutton, it feeds upon the fair,
I wait by that ethernal gate of sweetn’ss,
Knowing it will not come to my mort’l side,
Angels must have seen my desire and hope.

Resting in the land of viands and wines,
I did not know the ample bread of lands,
Some good some poor like fruit of mountain bush,
It was so unlike the drop I tasted last.

             The birds and I me have often shared,
              In nature's joyous enticing dining-room.