Annotations VINTAGE ALAND of riotous harvest and of sweat, A land where men pull down the boughs to get Plump clusters and then ravage them, a land Where some coarse mystery breeds that must expand ; A festival as ominous as fate, A holiday that will not satiate. Such laughter as must leap up to a creed ; More clusters and more crushings and more speed, Pressure of bubbling fruit on open lips. Squashing and spirts and juicy finger-tips ! For this sun-smothered champaign were accurst. Should Bacchus pass, with glazing eyes, athirst. Book traversal links for A land of riotous harvest and of sweat ‹ She fled from love, her suit was granted Up A nightingale wakes me. Think of this ›
