POEMS FROM OVER THE TEACUPS

“WHO gave this cup?” The secret thou wouldst steal

Its brimming flood forbids it to reveal:

No mortal's eye shall read it till he first

Cool the red throat of thirst.

If on the golden floor one draught remain,

Trust me, thy careful search will be in vain;

Not till the bowl is emptied shalt thou know

The names enrolled below.

Deeper than Truth lies buried in her well

Those modest names the graven letters spell

Hide from the sight; but wait, and thou shalt see

Who the good angels be.

Whose bounty glistens in the beauteous gift

That friendly hands to loving lips shall lift

Turn the fair goblet when its floor is dry,—

Their names shall meet thine eye.

Count thou their number on the beads of Heaven

Alas! the clustered Pleiads are but seven;

Nay, the nine sister Muses are too few,—

The Graces must add two.

“For whom this gift?” For one who all too long

Clings to his bough among the groves of song;

Autumn's last leaf, that spreads its faded wing

To greet a second spring.

Dear friends, kind friends, whate'er the cup may hold,

Bathing its burnished depths, will change to gold

Its last bright drop let thirsty Maenads drain,

Its fragrance will remain.

Better love's perfume in the empty bowl

Than wine's nepenthe for the aching soul;

Sweeter than song that ever poet sung,

It makes an old heart young!