Mired in a Poetry State of Mind

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