Life's Hebe.
139
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:
