A Draught Of Sunshine
Hence
Burgundy,
Claret,
and
Port,
Away
with
old
Hock
and
madeira,
Too
earthly
ye
are
for
my
sport;
There's
a
beverage
brighter
and
clearer.
Instead
of
a
piriful
rummer,
My
wine
overbrims
a
whole
summer;
My
bowl
is
the
sky,
And
I
drink
at
my
eye,
Till
I
feel
in
the
brain
A
Delphian
pain
-
Then
follow,
my
Caius!
then
follow:
On
the
green
of
the
hill
We
will
drink
our
fill
Of
golden
sunshine,
Till
our
brains
intertwine
With
the
glory
and
grace
of
Apollo!
God
of
the
Meridian,
And
of
the
East
and
West,
To
thee
my
soul
is
flown,
And
my
body
is
earthward
press'd.
-
It
is
an
awful
mission,
A
terrible
division;
And
leaves
a
gulph
austere
To
be
fill'd
with
worldly
fear.
Aye,
when
the
soul
is
fled
To
high
above
our
head,
Affrighted
do
we
gaze
After
its
airy
maze,
As
doth
a
mother
wild,
When
her
young
infant
child
Is
in
an
eagle's
claws
-
And
is
not
this
the
cause
Of
madness?
-
God
of
Song,
Thou
bearest
me
along
Through
sights
I
scarce
can
bear:
O
let
me,
let
me
share
With
the
hot
lyre
and
thee,
The
staid
Philosophy.
Temper
my
lonely
hours,
And
let
me
see
thy
bowers
More
unalarm'd!
