The Cup of Life
A. Mary F. Robinson
1857 to 1944
In the cup of life, 'tis true,
Dwells a draught of bitter dew—
Disenchantment, sorrow, pain,
Hunger that no bread can still,
Dreary dawns that dawn in vain,
Hopes that torture, joys that kill.
Yet no other cup I know
Where such radiant waters glow:
It contains the song of birds,
And the shining of the sun;
And the sweet unspoken words
We have dreamed of, every one;
Love of women, minds of men.—
Take the cup, nor break it, then.
A. Mary F. Robinson's The Cup of Life
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