• The banquet-cups, of many a hue and shape,
      Bossed o’er with gems, were beautiful to view;
    But, for the madness of the vaunted grape,
      Their only draught was a pure limpid dew,

    To Spirits sweet; but these half-mortal lips
      Longed for the streams that once on earth they quaffed;
    And, half in shame, Tahathyam coldly sips
      And craves...