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Poem by Sidney Lanier


The Stirrup-Cup


Death, thourt a cordial old and rare:
Look how compounded, with what care!
Time got his wrinkles reaping thee
Sweet herbs from all antiquity.

David to thy distillage went,
Keats, and Gotama excellent,
Omar Khayyam, and Chaucer bright,
And Shakespeare for a king-delight.

Then, Time, let not a drop be spilt:
Hand me the cup wheneer thou wilt;
Tis thy rich stirrup-cup to me;
Ill drink it down right smilingly.



Sidney Lanier


Sidney Lanier's other poems:
  1. On Huntingdons "Miranda"
  2. Marsh Hymns
  3. To Charlotte Cushman
  4. Nirvana
  5. Laus Mariae


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