Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 38

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XXXVIII MANDRAGORA
Pour me red wine from out the Venice flask,   Pour faster, faster yet!The joy of ruby thought I do not ask,     Bid me forget!
Breathe slumbrous music round me, sweet and slow,   To honied phrases set!Into the land of dreams I long to go.     Bid me forget!
Lay not the rose's bloom against my cheek,   With chill tears she is wet.The wrinkled poppy is the flower I seek.     Bid me forget!
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Where is delight? and what are pleasures now?—   Moths that a garment fret.The world is turned memorial, crying, "Thou     Shalt not forget!"

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