The Amulet
Whoso o'erbrins a chalice with the blood
Of my rich veins shall thirst and thirst again,
And, quaffing, be forgetful of all pain,
Fantasy darkling and remorseful mood
I am the voluptuary's luscious food.
And, Love whose evanescent lips I stain
with odorous rosiness of crimson rain,
Folds me in scented draperies
- I am good.
Francis F. Garland
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