< Poems (Coates 1916) < Volume II
For other versions of this work, see Socrates (Coates).
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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