Poem January 21, 1911 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel.]

"THE VINE"

BEN. HAWORTH-BOOTH

Burden of beauty, joy of luscious leaves,
And purple fruits of rich caparison,
And honey scent and hum of honey thieves,
And sweet enchantment of the golden sun—
These are my dowry, and in every race
Men give me deference due, and pride of place.

They make them arbors of these boughs of mine,
And staves and stools and hundred household things:
My harvest horn of vintage nectarine
Is freely poured for peasants and for kings:
And men would drink, for better or for worse,
A boon or bane, a blessing or a curse.

My blood they in cups of burning gold,
And spill with incense on their paschal flame:
No marriage feast is made, nor tale is told,
Except they pledge me in good fortune's name:
But he who bade them live the life divine
Left them the loving cup of living wine.

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