What say we drink, lads
To the clink precious
Glassy pebbles make as they
Make their way under-
Water near fabled shores—
Next bring up
That drunken image
Of a nautilus flush
With pearls
Of wisdom scuttled
On the bottom
Of some blind poet’s wine-
Dark sea floor,
Then drink, drink till
There’s no more rhyme
Or reason to remain
Afloat any more.
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