White Stains

106 SLEEPING IN CARTHAGE SLEEPING IN CARTHAGE The month of thirst is ended. From the lips That hide their blushes in the golden wood A fervent fountain amorously slips, The dainty rivers of thy luscious blood ; Red streams of sweet nepenthe that eclipse The milder nectar that the gods hold good— How my dry throat, held hard between thy hips, Shall drain the moon-wrought flow of womanhood ! Divinest token of sterility, Strange barren fountain blushing from the womb, Like to an echo of Augustan gloom When all men drank this wine ; it maddens me With yearnings after new divinity, Prize of thy draught, some where beyond the tomb.