I cannot die, who drank delight
From the cup of the crescent moon,
And hungrily as men eat bread,
Loved the scented nights of June.
The rest may die-but is there not
Some shining strange escape for me
Who sought in Beauty the bright wine
Of immortality?
The Wine
Sara Teasdale
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Poem topics: beauty, june, moon, bright, delight, bread, strange, shining, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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