But the wine of God came down,
And I drank it out of the air.
(Fair is the serpent-cup,
But the cup of God more fair.)
The wine of God came down
That makes no drinker to weep.
And I went back to battle again
Leaving the singer asleep.
The Beggar's Valentine
Kiss me and comfort my heart
Maiden honest and fine.
I am the pilgrim boy
Lame, but hunting the shrine;
Fleeing away from the sweets,
Seeking the dust and rain,
Sworn to the staff and road,
Scorning pleasure and pain;
Nevertheless my mouth
Would rest like a bird an hour
And find in your curls a nest
And find in your breast a bower:
Nevertheless my eyes
Would lose themselves in your own,
Rivers that seek the sea,
Angels before the throne:
Kiss me and comfort my heart,
For love can never be mine:
Passion, hunger and pain,
These are the only wine
Of the pilgrim bound to the road.
He would rob no man of his own.
Your heart is another's I know,
Your honor is his alone.
The feasts of a long drawn love,
The feasts of a wedded life,
The harvests of patient years,
And hearthstone and children and wife:
These are your lords I know.
These can never be mine—
This is the price I pay
For the foolish search for the shrine: