LA JUIVE 
121 
Prolong the orgie, shriek aloud 
With drunken vehemence above 
All violence more than Corybant 
To our Iacchian God—Absinthe ! 
 
Ah ! thy red lips, and its green glint ! 
Its wavy splendour, and the dance 
Thy belly weaves, a triple hint 
Of Hell, and Algiers, and France ! 
Ah !  Judas-love ! this flask we’ll drain, 
Kiss hard—and so to bed again !