The earth is the cup of the sun, <br />That he filleth at morning with wine, <br />With the warm, strong wine of his might <br />From the vintage of gold and of light, <br />Fills it, and makes it divine. <br /> <br />And at night when his journey is done, <br />At the gate of his radiant hall, <br />He setteth his lips to the brim, <br />With a long last look of his eye, <br />And lifts it and draineth it dry, <br />Drains till he leaveth it all <br />Empty and hollow and dim. <br /> <br />And then, as he passes to sleep, <br />Still full of the feats that he did, <br />Long ago in Olympian wars, <br />He closes it down with the sweep <br />Of its slow-turning luminous lid, <br />Its cover of darkness and stars, <br />Wrought once by Hephaestus of old <br />With violet and vastness and gold.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sun-cup/
