Sara Teasdale’s speaker sets herself apart from ordinary mortality, saying she cannot die because she has taken in beauty as fiercely as hunger takes in bread. The cup of the crescent moon and the scented June nights become a kind of intoxicating nourishment. The opening line is confident, even defiant, but the second stanza turns into a question: others may die, yet she wonders whether some “shining strange escape” might remain for someone who has tried to drink the bright wine of immortality through Beauty. The mood is moonlit, sensuous, and almost drunk with longing—but the final question keeps it from feeling triumphant. It is less a boast than a fragile hope that loving the world deeply enough might let the speaker slip past death.
The Wine — Summary
I cannot die, who drank delight From the cup of the crescent moon, And hungrily as men eat bread, Loved the scented nights of June.
The rest may die--but is there not Some shining strange escape for me Who sought in Beauty the bright wine Of immortality?