WHO PRESENTED ME WITH A SILVER LOVING CUPON THE TWENTY-NINTH OF AUGUST, M DCCC LXXXIX
'WHO gave this cup?' The secret thou wouldst stealIts brimming flood forbids it to reveal:No mortal's eye shall read it till he firstCool the red throat of thirst.
If on the golden floor one draught remain,Trust me, thy careful search will be in vain;Not till the bowl is emptied shalt thou knowThe names enrolled below.
Deeper than Truth lies buried in her wellThose modest names the graven letters spellHide from the sight; but wait, and thou shalt seeWho the good angels be.
Whose bounty glistens in the beauteous giftThat friendly hands to loving lips shall liftTurn the fair goblet when its floor is dry,--Their names shall meet thine eye.
Count thou their number on the beads of HeavenAlas! the clustered Pleiads are but seven;Nay, the nine sister Muses are too few,--The Graces must add two.
'For whom this gift?' For one who all too longClings to his bough among the groves of song;Autumn's last leaf, that spreads its faded wingTo greet a second spring.
Dear friends, kind friends, whate'er the cup may hold,Bathing its burnished depths, will change to goldIts last bright drop let thirsty Maenads drain,Its fragrance will remain.
Better love's perfume in the empty bowlThan wine's nepenthe for the aching soul;Sweeter than song that ever poet sung,It makes an old heart young!
'WHO gave this cup?' The secret thou wouldst stealIts brimming flood forbids it to reveal:No mortal's eye shall read it till he firstCool the red throat of thirst.
If on the golden floor one draught remain,Trust me, thy careful search will be in vain;Not till the bowl is emptied shalt thou knowThe names enrolled below.
Deeper than Truth lies buried in her wellThose modest names the graven letters spellHide from the sight; but wait, and thou shalt seeWho the good angels be.
Whose bounty glistens in the beauteous giftThat friendly hands to loving lips shall liftTurn the fair goblet when its floor is dry,--Their names shall meet thine eye.
Count thou their number on the beads of HeavenAlas! the clustered Pleiads are but seven;Nay, the nine sister Muses are too few,--The Graces must add two.
'For whom this gift?' For one who all too longClings to his bough among the groves of song;Autumn's last leaf, that spreads its faded wingTo greet a second spring.
Dear friends, kind friends, whate'er the cup may hold,Bathing its burnished depths, will change to goldIts last bright drop let thirsty Maenads drain,Its fragrance will remain.
Better love's perfume in the empty bowlThan wine's nepenthe for the aching soul;Sweeter than song that ever poet sung,It makes an old heart young!
