To The Eleven Ladies

Who Presented Me With A Silver Loving Cup On The Twenty-Ninth Of August, M Dccc Lxxxix     "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!