BLACK CAT POEMS
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Wine On the Lees
Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene
I set apart a sacred day and hour,
And gathered up my friendships unto me;
Of all that has been, is, must ever be
The richest fruitage of life's purple dower.
As one who holds a draught from Tuscan vine,
That burns like some strange jewel on the lees,
That brims, and trembles over, and he sees
His own heart-beating has o'er-spilled the
So I my slender flagon holding up
In Memory's light, as best to makr its glow,
With quivering sobs erewhile did overflow,
And mix with falling tears my brimming cup.
For oh, that wine of
From life's warm vineyard, sloping to the sun!
With richer juices than again will run,
Oh, her red winepress trodden was, and filled!
have we. When that is o'er,
And summer's fleeting dream, then, dear my friends,
Our autumn days run on to wintry ends,
Whose breath is chill. Lo, Age is at the door!
poems by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene