The clouds expand and weep upon the earth. No
longer can we live without the amaranthine cup. The
tender green glads weary eyes to-day, but oh! that emerald
verdure growing from our dust, whose sight will it
rejoice?
To-day, which we call Adine [Wednesday], leave
the tiny cup and drink wine from a bowl. If other days
you drank but one fair bowl, to-day drink two, for Adine
ranks its fellow days, save one.
O heart! since this world makes you sad, since souls
so pure must leave the tenement of clay, go, sit upon
the verdure of the field sometimes, ere verdure springs
in turn from your own dust.
This wine, which by its nature hath a multitude of
forms, which now is animal and now is plant, can never
cease to be, for its imperishable self ordains a lasting
life though forms may disappear.
No smoke ascends above my holocaust of crime: could
man ask more? This hand, which man's injustice raises
to my head, no comfort brings, even though it touch the
hem of saintly robes.