The Stirrup-Cup
Death, thou’rt a cordial old and rare:Look how compounded, with what care!Time got his wrinkles reaping theeSweet herbs from all antiquity.
David to thy distillage went,Keats, and Gotama excellent,Omar Khayyam, and Chaucer bright,And Shakespeare for a king-delight.
Then, Time, let not a drop be spilt:Hand me the cup whene’er thou wilt;’Tis thy rich stirrup-cup to me;I’ll drink it down right smilingly.
Tampa, Florida, 1877.