Then directly most every one seemed of like thought,
For the wine was all gone, and the ones who had sought
The wine cup the most, had a look as if taunted
By more than the fear with which others were haunted.
For the pleasure from wine turned to mockery soon,
And the sweetest song then had remorse in its tone.
When the spirit they found in the cup that was brought
Turned a weakling and died and their nerves were distraught.
Then their folly to them seemed as dark as a crime
Which could never be whitened by penance or time—