  1 Big-stomached, like friars Who ogle a nun, Quaff deep to their bellies' desires From the old abbey's tun, Grapes fatten with fires Warm-filtered from moon and from sun. 2 As a novice who muses,— Lips a rosary tell, While her thoughts are—a love she refuses? —Nay! mourns as not well: The ripe apple looses Its holding to rot where it fell. |
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