Lips ruddy and ripe as the roses
That sway and that surge in the storms;
O, buoyant and blooming Bacchante,
Of fairer than feminine face,
Rush, raging as demon of Dante—
To this, my embrace!
The foam, and the fangs, and the flowers,
The raving and ravenous rage,
Of a poet as pinion’d in powers,
As condor confined in a cage!