Gentle one; caress my lips; Not wine is yours, but yet so sweet, And though I, of heavy heart, may weep, Your darkness lifts me high, To temporal paradises that last eternal. Forgotten minutes, forgotten hours; Your hand sweeps across my brow, And with numbness and poor dexterity, I fall, with submission, into slumber. Gentle one; so still, so cool; Refresh my life with vigour and love. Cast out my doubts of heaven, And leave me happy to play In meadows of green, with red and yellows; So bright, so hard, so smooth. Without you, sweet love, where would I be? Without you, dark lady, I could be me. (Ode to Newcastle Brown Ale)