Mine and Thine (1904)/Socrates

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For other versions of this work, see Socrates.

SOCRATES

He raised the hemlock to his lips, 
 He drained the fatal draught,
Calmly conversing with his friends,
 As he a wine had quaffed;
And, ah! what wine so rich to bless?
 The torch of day grown dim,
Death's cup has less of bitterness
 For all, because of him!