Where the God put it when his mouth had drained,
To the last dregs, libation lifeblood-like,
And praised Euripides forevermore—
The Human with his droppings of warm tears.
Still, since one thing may have so many sides,
I think I see how,—far from Sophokles,—
You, I, or any one might mould a new
Admetos, new Alkestis. Ah, that brave
Bounty of poets, the one royal race
That ever was, or will be, in this world!