If we must cheat ourselves with any dream,
Then let it be a dream of nobleness:
Since it is necessary to express
Gall from black grapes—to sew an endless seam
With a rusty needle—chase a spurious gleam
Narrowing to the nothing through the less—
Since life's no better than a bitter guess,
And love's a stranger—let us change the theme.

Let us at least pretend—it may be true—
That we can close our lips on poisonous
Dark wine diluted by the Stygean wave;
And let me dream sublimity in you,
And courage, liberal for the two of us:
Let us at least pretend we can be brave.