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THE CUP OF JOY |
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|
 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
423
THE CUP OF JOY
Let us mix a cup of Joy
That the wretched may employ,
Whom the Fates have made their toy.
That the wretched may employ,
Whom the Fates have made their toy.
Who have given brain and heart
To the thankless world of Art,
And from Fame have won no part.
To the thankless world of Art,
And from Fame have won no part.
Who have labored long at thought;
Starved and toiled and all for naught;
Sought and found not what they sought.
Starved and toiled and all for naught;
Sought and found not what they sought.
Let our goblet be the skull
Of a fool; made beautiful
With a gold nor base nor dull:
Of a fool; made beautiful
With a gold nor base nor dull:
Gold of madcap fancies, once
It contained, that,—sage or dunce,—
Each can read whoever runs.
It contained, that,—sage or dunce,—
Each can read whoever runs.
424
First we pour the liquid light
Of our dreams in; then the bright
Beauty that makes day of night.
Of our dreams in; then the bright
Beauty that makes day of night.
Let this be the must wherefrom,
In due time, the mettlesome
Care-destroying drink shall come.
In due time, the mettlesome
Care-destroying drink shall come.
Folly next: with which mix in
Laughter of a child of sin,
And the red of mouth and chin.
Laughter of a child of sin,
And the red of mouth and chin.
These shall give the tang thereto,
Effervescence and rich hue
Which to all good wine are due.
Effervescence and rich hue
Which to all good wine are due.
Then into our cup we press
One wild kiss of wantonness,
And a glance that says not less.
One wild kiss of wantonness,
And a glance that says not less.
Sparkles both that give a fine
Lustre to the drink divine,
Necessary to good wine.
Lustre to the drink divine,
Necessary to good wine.
Lastly in the goblet goes
Sweet a love-song, then a rose
Warmed upon her breast's repose.
Sweet a love-song, then a rose
Warmed upon her breast's repose.
425
These bouquet our drink.—Now measure
With your arm the waist you treasure—
Lift the cup and drink to Pleasure.
With your arm the waist you treasure—
Lift the cup and drink to Pleasure.
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |