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This week I was sidetracked by poetry. There is very little of poetry that I like, but this one by Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron; English poet) is definitely one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy it, as well.
Lines
Inscribed upon a Cup Formed from a Skull
When
a skull "of giant size and in a perfect state of preservation" was
found in the garden of Newstead Abbey, "a strange fancy seized me,"
Byron told Medwin, "of having it mounted as a drinking cup. I accordingly
sent it to town, and it returned with a very high polish and of a nottled
colour like tortoise-shell"
1
Start Not – nor deem my
spirit fled:
In me behold the only skull,
From which, unlike a living
head,
Whatever flows is never
dull.
2
I liv'd, I lov'd, I quaff'd,
like thee:
I died: let the earth my
bones resign;
Fill up – thou canst not
injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips
than thine.
3
Better to hold the sparkling
grape,
Than nurse the earth-worm's
slimy brood;
And circle in the goblet's
shape
The drink of Gods, than
reptiles' food.
4
Where once my wit,
perchance, hath shone,
In aid of others' let me
shine;
And when, alas! Our brains
are gone,
What nobler substitute than
wine?
5
Quaff while thou canst:
another race,
When thou and thine, like
me, are sped,
May rescue thee from Earth's
embrace,
And rhyme and revel with the
dead.
6
Why not? Since through
life's little day
Our heads such sad effects
produce;
Redeem'd from worms and
wasting clay,
This chance is theirs, to be
of use
Newstead Abbey, 1808
