An empty cup is placed within our hands, Which we at wayside wells and inns may fill To quench our thirst. Clear water from the rill At first we find, but soon through desert lands We wander, where no pleasant shade-tree stands And from the rocks but bitter drops distill. We journey onward with undaunted will, Still eager that our feverish demands May find what they desire. We mix our wine With rue and fennel, and with heart's-ease, too; 'Tis bitter-sweet. Our souls are filled with ruth; But from the western hills a breath divine Brings strength and peace, and kindles hope anew; Beyond the sunset lies the fount of youth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A WATERFOWL by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT ALL GOATS by ELIZABETH JANE COATSWORTH AT A LUNAR ECLIPSE by THOMAS HARDY AMONG THE MOUNTAINS by EDMUND JOHN ARMSTRONG MY FORE-ELDERS by WILLIAM BARNES EPISTOLA AD DAKYNS by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |