| |
| IN the early morning-shine | |
| Of a certain day divine, | |
| I beheld a Maiden stand | |
| With a pitcher in her hand; | |
| Whence she pour’d into a cup, | 5 |
| Until it was half fill’d up, | |
| Nectar that was golden light | |
| In the cup of crystal bright. | |
| |
| And the first who took the cup | |
| With pure water fill’d it up; | 10 |
| As he drank then, it was more | |
| Ruddy golden then before: | |
| And he leap’d and danced and sang | |
| As to Bacchic cymbals’ clang. | |
| |
| But the next who took the cup | 15 |
| With the red wine fill’d it up; | |
| What he drank then was in hue | |
| Of a heavy sombre blue: | |
| First he reel’d and then he crept, | |
| Then lay faint but never slept. | 20 |
| |
| And the next who took the cup | |
| With the white milk fill’d it up; | |
| What he drank at first seem’d blood, | |
| Then turn’d thick and brown as mud: | |
| And he mov’d away as slow | 25 |
| As a weary ox may go. | |
| |
| But the next who took the cup | |
| With sweet honey fill’d it up; | |
| Nathless that which he did drink | |
| Was thin fluid black as ink: | 30 |
| As he went he stumbled soon, | |
| And lay still in deathlike swoon. | |
| |
| She the while without a word | |
| Unto all the cup preferr’d; | |
| Blandly smil’d and sweetly laugh’d | 35 |
| 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: | 40 |
| First he bow’d a reverent bow, | |
| Then he kiss’d her on the brow. | |
| |
| But the next who took the cup | |
| Without mixture drank it up; | |
| When she took it back from him | 45 |
| It was full unto the brim: | |
| He with a right bold embrace | |
| Kiss’d her sweet lips face to face. | |
| |
| Then she sang with blithest cheer: | |
| Who has thirst, come here, come here! | 50 |
| Nectar that is golden light | |
| In the cup of crystal bright, | |
| Nectar that is sunny fire | |
| Warm as warmest heart’s desire: | |
| Pitcher never lacketh more, | 55 |
| Arm is never tir’d to pour: | |
| Honey, water, milk, or wine | |
| Mingle with the draught divine, | |
| Drink it pure, or drink it not; | |
| Each is free to choose his lot; | 60 |
| Am I old? or am I cold? | |
| Only two have kiss’d me bold! | |
| |
| She was young and fair and gay | |
| As that young and glorious day. | |
| |
