So, if he bids thee drink, drink not, but rest
Thy lips upon the rim, lest thou shouldst die.’
“Ah! how the sky seemed barren of all light
When the soft voice had finished whispering;
And my soul questioned me in weariness:
What plan or purpose was there left in life,
If my belovéd plotted death for me?
But yet I thanked the page, and let him kiss
My hand, and gave him a thick ring of gold,
And sent him from me ere I turned to weep.