O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool’d a long age
in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and
the country green,
Dance, and
Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full
of the warm South,
Full of the true,
the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded
bubbles winking at the brim,
And
purple-stained mouth;
That I might
drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee
fade away into the forest dim:
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