  I I taste the cup of sacred wine, Nor count with you the cost too great For those who steadfastly can wait; Though grapes of fragrance so divine Should ripen to their vintage late. Gathered when only richest suns Pour down a wealth of golden fire; Pressed while the holy heart’s desire Breathes grateful for these perfect ones, And solemn prayer floats high and higher;— Type of a love that lets no stain Of doubt or dullness mar its creed; But patient through its own great need Of loving, wins its sure domain,— Such love, such wine, is pure indeed. Yet as I turn to pour for you,— Vivid and sparkling at your gaze,— My own heart’s vintage,—let me praise This glowing wine as holy, too; Since love may come in many ways. And mine came to me as a star Shines suddenly from worlds apart; And suddenly my lifted heart Caught the rare brightness from afar And mirrored its swift counterpart. Love born of instant trust and need, Each heart of each; a love that knew No test of time to prove it true, No fostering care; without a seed It seemed as if the flower grew! And you whose tender love was nursed In strong sweet patience, till the wine Of joy became for you divine, Ripened in sunlight from the first,— Will not refuse to this of mine A sacredness; remembering,— By miracle changed instantly,— The holy wine of Galilee;— Even so the wine of joy I bring |
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