Classic Poem

Where those stone waterpots stood round the wall
Slaves that came scurrying from their mills and querns
Cast casual pools and splashed the floor by turns
In light lustration and no fault at all;
But when deep Nature heard the Vine-King call
The fire that feeds us and the blood that burns
Gathering great wine in those almighty urns
Men bore them brimming; and let no drop fall.

Ah not for us the random streams and rash
Of slaves that stand indifferent and depart
Not yet being called to the high thrift of kings
Where for deep draughts, and not for spilth or splash
God gave us beauty and the burning heart
The body built for everlasting things.