I.

My goblet was exceeding beautiful; It was the jewel of my cave; I had A corner where I hid it in the moss, Between the jagged crevices of rock, Where no one but myself could find it out; But when a nymph, or wood-god passed my door, I filled it to the brim with bravest wine, And offered them a draught, and told them Jove Had nothing finer, richer at his feasts, Though Ganymede and Hebe did their best: "His nectar is not richer than my wine," Said I, "and for the goblet, look at it!" But I have broken my divinest cup And trod its fragments in the dust of Earth!