Poems (Henley)/Fill a glass with golden wine
VII
Fill a glass with golden wine, And the while your lips are wetSet their perfume unto mine, And forget,Every kiss we take and giveLeaves us less of life to live.
Yet again! Your whim and mine In a happy while have met.All your sweets to me resign, Nor regretThat we press with every breath,Sighed or singing, nearer death.
1875