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From that jug of wine which contains no evil
Fill the cup, drink with me, & give yet another
Ere that at the crossroads—O my love
The potter make pots of your earth & mine.

 

P 744

From yon gugglet of wine, wherein no impurities be,
A cup fill and drink and give thou another to me,
Or ever, O fair, in the pathway of destiny,
Some potter make pots of the ashes of me and thee.

Th 576

O Love! ere through the Door thy step inchne,
Or potters mould jugs from my clay and thine,
Fill thy cup from that flagon of good wine
That harms not, drink, and then replenish mine.

Wh 468

O Love! before you pass death's portal through,
And potters make their jugs of me and you,
Pour from this jug some wine, of headache void,
And fill your cup, and fill my goblet too!

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