How often, when the thought of suicide...

How often, when the thought of suicide

With ghostly weapon beckons us to die,

The ghosts of many foods alluring glide

On golden dishes, wine in purple tide

To drown our whim. Things danced before the eye

Like tasselled grapes to Tantalus: The sly

Blue of a curling trout, the battened pride

Of ham in frills, complacent quails that lie

Resigned to death like heroes — July peas,

Expectant bottles foaming at the brink —

White bread, and honey of the golden bees —

A peach with velvet coat, some prawns in pink,

A slice of beef carved deftly, Stilton cheese,

And cup where berries float and bubbles wink.