The Wine Is Murmuring in the Gloom

The Wine is murmuring in the gloom,
Because he feels that Spring is come
To gladden everything outside . .
To wing the dove to meet his bride,
And not disdainfully to pass
Even the snail along the grass;

Because he feels that on the slope
Of his own hill the vine-flowers ope;
Because he feels that never more
Will earth or heaven his past restore.
He beats against the ribs of iron
Which him and all his strength environ:
He murmurs, swells, and beats again,
But murmurs, swells, and beats in vain.
" Why think about it?" Need I say,
Remembering one sweet hour last May?
We think and feel ('twas your remark)
Then most when all around is dark.