Purple-blue bloom of night,
Globed grapes clustered morosely
Down the dark vineyards of untrodden streets:
The noise of the moments is like the clash of the hoofs of a horse rattling,
Thin tattoo in the stillness:
The noise of the moments takes me, uncaring,
Towards the day.
With brassy crash, dawn's corybants
Invade and trample the vineyard:
Like a faun I hide and watch them,
A dark cup in my hand.
Spoilers of my vineyard,
Spilling the lees of my sweet red wine,
You will yet ask in vain for a cup that is not yours,
A purple, dewy cup of lonely night.
Tramplers in the morning,
Sunburnt faces and weary lips,
There is yet a cup here you cannot have,
I hold it in my hands.
Would you drink of it?
Lay down your thyrse and timbrel.
Break the harsh dance that flickers through the morning,
Forget the scarlet perfumes of the day.
Remember only starless night, cool swish of many seas.
Faint pearl-glow of evening,
Cool marble in the silence:
Purple-blue grapes of night crushed freshly,
Deep sleep and the drowsy stars.