Classic Poem

The cup of life was offered me:
An angel of great majesty
Held the huge chalice steadily;

And said: “'Tis given thee to drink,
O mortal, from the chalice brink,
And in its depths thy soul to sink;

Or else 'tis given thee to stand
And marvel at its carvings grand,
And barely touch it with thy hand.

Wilt drink or not? 'Tis bitter-sweet,
The draught, for gall and honey meet
And for the mastery compete.”

Calm was the voice; but as I gazed,
The angel's glorious eyes were raised,
And there a thousand voices blazed.

And sweet those voices in mine ear,
As of angelic choirs near;
And, though my flesh did faint and fear,

My spirit yearned forth for the draught.
For joy the angel's visage laughed,
As my lips touched the cup and quaffed.