For one so old,—yea, nimble as a flea,)
Seem’d now as though her life was e’en at stake,
Adjusting flowers around the bridal-cake;
A massive silver stand supports it up;
Beside it, stood an ancient golden cup,—
Engrav’d with Bacchus, riding on a ram,—
In which a thousand purple streams had swam.
(O goblet, could’st thou tell but half the mirth
Which thou alone hast witnessed on earth!
Ah! could’st thou tell whose lips have kiss’d thy rim,