Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/538

522 The life from their hearts in its richness was pressed


 * To secure this ambrosia divine.

'Tis as full of delight as the grapes were of juice,


 * Like their amethyst bloom is its hue;

It has drank from the sunlight its glory profuse,


 * It has drank from the roses their dew.

And yet it has stol'n all the gloom of the night,


 * And of Dian's sad eyes, o'er the hill

As they beam in their beauty forlornly yet bright,


 * And the mists in the valley grow chill.

In goblets of Juno's white lilies so sweet


 * It is served by the Gods to the few

Who can drink the top sparkles most bright and most fleet.


 * And still drink till the dregs are in view.

The ethereal bliss flowing; fast through each vein


 * The aromas of earth yielded up,

But the fire rising fast to the agonized brain


 * By Prometheus was mixed in the cup.

Who can bear the sweet anguish of Heaven's pure fire?


 * Who will drug his own soul with despair?—

The roses whose odors wake endless desire,


 * The poppies of dreams, who can bear?

If he seeks but the bliss that perfumeth the top,


 * If he seeks but its sweetness divine.

Let him leave it, for anguish and joy, drop for drop,


 * Are expressed in this exquisite wine.

The lips that have thrilled at the goblet flow fast


 * With a madness they cannot forbear :

The gods what they will of the future and past


 * Through these oracles boldly declare.

The chill of the caves where it cooled, and the glow


 * Of the hills where it grew, mingle up—

Who can bear, like a god, both its raptures and woe,


 * He shall quaff from the mystical cup.