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Edna St. Vincent Millay - Not With Libations, But With Shouts And Laughter
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Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter
We drenched the altars of Love`s sacred grove,
Shaking to earth green fruits, impatient after
The launching of the colored moths of Love.
Love`s proper myrtle and his mother`s zone
We bound about our irreligious brows,
And fettered him with garlands of our own,
And spread a banquet in his frugal house.
Not yet the god has spoken; but I fear
Though we should break our bodies in his flame,
And pour our blood upon his altar, here
Henceforward is a grove without a name,
A pasture to the shaggy goats of Pan,
Whence flee forever a woman and a man.
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