Bacchante then and Pan were we that night;
Grape-God, I call you witness to the sight;
That night, Grape-God, beneath your mighty sway
Lay not upon my breast in love’s sweet pain
Black grapes from Malaga beside the Main?
V
You said: “To make more sweet that which will be,
Let’s play a part together, you and I.
See!—I’m a monk, who, in his garden high,
Doth fast and pray to banish things worldly.