And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted — “Open then the Door!
“You know how little while we have to stay,
“And, once departed, may return no more.”
Now the New Year* reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the ground suspires.
Iram* indeed is gone with all his Rose,
And Jamshyd’s Sev’n-ring’d Cup where no one knows;
But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,
And many a Garden by the Water blows.
And David’s lips are lockt; but in divine
High-piping Pehleví,* with “Wine! Wine! Wine!
“Red Wine!” — the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That sallow cheek of hers to’ incarnadine.