Page:Poems, Volume 2, Coates, 1916.djvu/154

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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!

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