I will mix me a drink of stars, —
Large stars with polychrome needles,
Small stars jetting maroon and crimson,
Cool, quiet, green stars.
I will tear them out of the sky,
And squeeze them over an old silver cup,
And I will pour the cold scorn of my Beloved into it,
So that my drink shall be bubbled with ice.
It will lap and scratch
As I swallow it down;
And I shall feel it as a serpent of fire,
Coiling and twisting in my belly.
His snortings will rise to my head,
And I shall be hot, and laugh,
Forgetting that I have ever known a woman.
Vintage
Analysis, meaning and summary of Amy Lowell's poem Vintage
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THE POEM REALLY MADE ME SAY AAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWW I REALLY LIKED IT BUT I NEED SOMETHING TO TELL A PERSON HOW I REALLY FEEL ABOUT TO TELL HIM I AM SORRY FOR CHEATING ON HIM SOMETHING 2 MAKE HIM CRY AND WANT ME BACK AND NEVA LEAVE ME