D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930). New Poems. 1916.
41. Autumn Sunshine
T
And fills them up a pouring measure
Of death-producing wine, till treasure
Runs waste down their chalices.
Are on the board, are over-filled;
The portion to the gods is spilled;
Now, mortals all, take hold!
Of lambent heaven, a pledging-cup;
Let now all mortal men take up
The drink, and a long, strong pull.
Drink then, invisible heroes, drink.
Lips to the vessels, never shrink,
Throats to the heavens incline.
By heaven and earth and hellish stream
To break this sick and nauseous dream
We writhe and lust in, both.
Of hell, to wake and be free
From this nightmare we writhe in,
Break out of this foul has-been.