Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter <br />We drenched the altars of Love's sacred grove, <br />Shaking to earth green fruits, impatient after <br />The launching of the colored moths of Love. <br />Love's proper myrtle and his mother's zone <br />We bound about our irreligious brows, <br />And fettered him with garlands of our own, <br />And spread a banquet in his frugal house. <br />Not yet the god has spoken; but I fear <br />Though we should break our bodies in his flame, <br />And pour our blood upon his altar, here <br />Henceforward is a grove without a name, <br />A pasture to the shaggy goats of Pan, <br />Whence flee forever a woman and a man.<br /><br />Edna St. Vincent Millay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnets-03-not-with-libations-but-with-shouts-an/
