The depth, not make it less.
“But as she drank I spied a hand distil
New wine and virgin honey; making it
First bitter-sweet, then sweet indeed, until
She tasted only sweet.
“Her lips and cheeks waxed rosy—fresh and young;
Drinking she sang: ‘My soul shall nothing want’;
And drank anew: while soft a song was sung,
A mystical low chant.
“One cried: ‘The wounds are faithful of a friend: