Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/344

Rh

Here, take this cup, though dark it seem, And drink to human hopes and fears; 'Tis from their native element The cup is fill'd—it is of tears.

What, turnest thou with averted brow? Thou scornest this poor feast of mine; And askest for a purple robe, Light words, glad smiles, and sunny wine. In vain—the veil has left thine eyes, Or such these would have seem'd to thee; Before thee is the Feast of Life, But life in its reality!