Lifes Hebe

In the early morning-shine     Of a certain day divine,     I beheld a Maiden stand     With a pitcher in her hand;     Whence she poured into a cup     Until it was half filled up     Nectar that was golden light     In the cup of crystal bright.     And the first who took the cup     With pure water filled it up;     As he drank then, it was more     Ruddy golden than before:     And he leapt and danced and sang     As to Bacchic cymbals clang.     But the next who took the cup     With the red wine filled it up;     What he drank then was in hue     Of a heavy sombre blue:     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:     First he bowed a reverent bow,     Then he kissed her on the brow.     But the next who took the cup     Without mixture drank it up;     When she took it back from him     It was full unto the brim:     He with a right bold embrace     Kissed her sweet lips face to face.     Then she sang with blithest cheer:     Who has thirst, come here, come here!     Nectar that is golden light     In the cup of crystal bright,     Nectar that is sunny fire     Warm as warmest hearts desire:     Pitcher never lacketh more,     Arm is never tired 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:     Am I old? or am I cold?     Only two have kissed me bold!     She was young and fair and gay     As that young and gloriousday.