Of empire, or renown, or treasure,
Of friendship’s faith or love’s devotion—
Things treacherous as the wind-rocked ocean—
For I have proved them all.
Away! If there be ought to bless
In rapture’s goblet, I have drained
That draught misnamed of happiness,
Till not a lurking drop remained
Of honey-mantled gall.
Oh! who would live, that once hath seen