OH! true was his heart while he breathèd That King over Thulé of old, So she that adored him bequeathèd Him, dying, a beaker of gold. At banquet and supper for years has He brimmingly filled it up, His eyes overflowing with tears as He drank from that beaker-cup. When Death came to wither his pleasures He parceled his cities wide, His castles, his lands, and his treasures, But the beaker he laid aside. They drank the red wine from the chalice. His barons and marshals brave; The monarch sat in his rock-palace Above the white foam of the wave. And now, growing weaker and weaker He quaffed his last Welcome to Death, And hurled the golden beaker Down into the flood beneath. He saw it winking and sinking, And drinking the foam so hoar; The light from his eyes was shrinking, Nor drop did he ever drink more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE HOME STRETCH by ROBERT FROST HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX by ROBERT BROWNING BETWEEN THE LINES by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON DOROTHY Q; A FAMILY PORTRAIT by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND by THOMAS MOORE |