Hebe

When Hebe, with her eyes lowered, blushing and artless

walked towards their banqueting-table,

the gods, enchanted, would hold out their empty cups

and the girl would fill them with nectar.

We also, all of us, when youth comes past,

jostle to hold our goblets out.

What wine does the goddess pour?

One we don't know, which exalts and enraptures.

Immortally graceful, Hebe smiles

and walks away; there's no calling her back.

For a long time still, watching the eternal road,

we follow with tearful gaze the divine cup-bearer.