At first you have erotic flush, followed by lassitude but with a twist towards the celebration of the long-lived.
When you came, you were like red wine
And the taste of you burnt my mouth
with its sweetness.
Now you are like morning bread,
I hardly taste you at all for I know your
But I am completely nourished.
Amy Lowell reprinted in The Imagist Poem edited by William Pratt and in which are found echoes of FitzGerald’s The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness –
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
Dough enough and time…
And so for day 1413