Grapes
Can one take moderate direction,
To its furthest degree and be
Slavish to pleasureless erection?
You, beloved, are not foolhardy
To starve, to waste away thus:
Your prosperity is more than I can handle
with Those bodily riches, you are august.
Whilst I fed you, vineyard’s ripe fruit dangle
From the cluster, a straying berry fell
And rolled down a white hill of fabric
to the entry of your southern dell
Wherein fauns resolve to prick.
So, shall I too visit your grove
Seeking plunder from that trove!
Biography
Samuel Craven is an undergraduate working towards an English degree, with his main interests being the love poetry of the Renaissance, and obscure cult classic movies. He is a seeker of knowledge, and enjoys the ribald poetry of the Earl of Rochester.