Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach thy hand,
For I am drowning in a stormier sea
Than Simon on thy lake of Galilee:
The wine of life is spilt upon the sand,
My heart is as some famine-murdered land
Whence all good things have perished utterly,
And well I know my soul in Hell must lie
A reference to Shakespeare’s  Macbeth  (Act II scene iii) : 
 The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees/ Is left this vault to brag of. 
 …a very poetic way to express the death of someone. 
 Far later on, in Wilde’s letter to Robert Ross regarding the first attack the Marquess of Queensberry (Lord Alfred Douglas’s father) laid on him, he would write: 
 The tower of ivory is assailed by the foul thing. On the sand is my life spilt.
E. Tenebris