Page:The city of dreadful night - and other poems (IA cityofdreadfulni00thomrich).pdf/153

 First he reeled and then he crept, Then lay faint but never slept.

And the next who took the cup With the white milk filled it up; What he drank at first seemed blood, Then turned thick and brown as mud: And he moved away as slow As a weary ox may go.

But the next who took the cup With sweet honey filled it up; Nathless that which he did drink Was thin fluid black as ink: As he went he stumbled soon, And lay still in deathlike swoon.

She the while without a word Unto all the cup preferred; Blandly smiled and sweetly laughed As each mingled his own draught.

And the next who took the cup To the sunshine held it up, Gave it back and did not taste; It was empty when replaced: