What Semiramis Said
Vachel Lindsay
The moon’s a steaming chalice Of honey and venom-wine. A little of it sipped by night Makes the long hours divine. But oh, my reckless lovers, They drain the cup and wail, Die at my feet with shaking limbs And tender lips all pale. Above them in the sky it bends Empty and gray and dread. To-morrow night ’tis full again, Golden, and foaming red.
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