Into
the mixing-bowl from which they drank their wine
she
slipped a drug, heart's ease, dissolving anger,
magic
to make us all forget our pains...
No
one who drank it deeply, mulled in wine,
could
let a tear roll down his cheeks that day,
not
even if his mother should die, his father die,
not
even if right before his eyes some enemy brought down
a
brother or darling son with a sharp bronze blade.
The Odyssey
Book IV: The King and Queen of Sparta
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