DUSK-HAIRED and gold-robed o'er the golden wine <br />She stoops, wherein, distilled of death and shame, <br />Sink the black drops; while, lit with fragrant flame, <br />Round her spread board the golden sunflowers shine. <br />Doth Helios here with Hecaté combine <br />(O Circe, thou their votaress!) to proclaim <br />For these thy guests all rapture in Love's name, <br />Till pitiless Night give Day the countersign? <br />Lords of their hour, they come. And by her knee <br />Those cowering beasts, their equals heretofore, <br />Wait; who with them in new equality <br />To-night shall echo back the sea's dull roar <br />With a vain wail from passion's tide-strown shore <br />Where the dishevelled seaweed hates the sea.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-the-wine-of-circle-by-edward-burne-jones/
