One does not ask for new wine,
For sweetness that lacks a bottle,
A balcony, a blackberry
Leaf, premonition
Of storms that winter brings.
The cask and moon are full;
There is no dreamless sleep.
In purple, Cassandra watches
Dark Piraeus. This once
New wine will not recur
Will not replace the words
Or hold a ship at anchor.
The vine is close to the womb;
And after sipping, men laugh.
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