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Thomas Moore - Drink of This Cup
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Drink of this cup; — you`ll find there`s a spell in 
   Its every drop `gainst the ills of mortality; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen; 
    Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 
Would you forget the dark world we are in 
    Just taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of it; 
But would you rise above earth, till akin 
    To immortals themselves, you must drain every drop of it! 
Send round the cup — for oh there`s a spell in 
    Its every drop `gainst the ills of mortality; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen! 
    Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 

Never was philter form`d with such power 
    To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing; 
Its magic began when, in Autumn`s rich hour, 
    A harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing. 
There having, by Nature`s enchantment, been fill`d 
    With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest weather, 
This wonderful juice from its core was distill`d 
    To enliven such hearts as are here brought together. 
Then drink of the cup — you`ll find there`s a spell in 
    Its every drop `gainst the ills of mortality; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen! 
    Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. 

And though, perhaps — but breathe it to no one — 
    Like liquor the witch brews at midnight so awful, 
This philter in secret was first taught to flow on, 
    Yet `tisn`t less potent for being unlawful. 
And, even though it taste of the smoke of that flame 
    Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden — 
Fill up — there`s a fire in some hearts I could name, 
    Which may work too its charm, though as lawless and hidden. 
So drink of the cup — for oh there`s a spell in 
    Its very drop `gainst the ills of mortality; 
Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen! 
    Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.
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