The Cup

And yet, saith he, ye need but sip;
And who would die without a taste?
Just touch the goblet to the lip,
Then let the bright draught run to waste!

She set her lip to the beaker’s brim—
’Twas passing sweet! ’Twas passing mild!
She let her large eyes dwell on him,
And sipped again, and smiled.

So sweet! So mild! She scarce can tell
If she doth really drink or no;
Till the light doth fade and the shadows swell,
And the goblet lieth low.

O cup of dreams! O cup of doubt!
O cup of blinding joy and pain!
The taste that none would die without!
The draught that all the world must drain!