To wash and rinse our souls of their age-old sorrows,
We drained a hundred jugs of wine.
A splendid night it was . . . .
In the clear moonlight we were loath to go to bed,
But at last drunkenness overtook us;
And we laid ourselves down on the empty mountain,
The earth for pillow, and the great heaven for coverlet.
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This is brilliant.
Never have I seen being drunk and passing-out, put to such poetic beauty.
A clever mind discises a drunken act.
Andrew
Edited on Feb 10, 11:39 because ''.
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