The earth is the cup of the sun,That he filleth at morning with wine,With the warm, strong wine of his mightFrom the vintage of gold and of light,Fills it, and makes it divine.And at night when his journey is done,At the gate of his radiant hall,He setteth his lips to the brim,With a long last look of his eye,And lifts it and draineth it dry,Drains till he leaveth it allEmpty and hollow and dim.And then, as he passes to sleep,Still full of the feats that he did,Long ago in Olympian wars,He closes it down with the sweepOf its slow-turning luminous lid,Its cover of darkness and stars,Wrought once by Hephæstus of oldWith violet and vastness and gold.
The earth is the cup of the sun,That he filleth at morning with wine,With the warm, strong wine of his mightFrom the vintage of gold and of light,Fills it, and makes it divine.
And at night when his journey is done,At the gate of his radiant hall,He setteth his lips to the brim,With a long last look of his eye,And lifts it and draineth it dry,Drains till he leaveth it allEmpty and hollow and dim.
And then, as he passes to sleep,Still full of the feats that he did,Long ago in Olympian wars,He closes it down with the sweepOf its slow-turning luminous lid,Its cover of darkness and stars,Wrought once by Hephæstus of oldWith violet and vastness and gold.
The first edition of this book consists of five hundred copies, printed by the Boston Engraving and McIndoe Printing Company, Boston, during March, 1896, with fifty additional copies on Arnold paper.