The cup of oblivion

A goblet of the river Lethe which spreads oblivion

Through the flowers of Elysium,

O spirit, bring one to your thirsting servant!

There, where Phaon forgot the singer Sappho,

There, where Orpheus forgot his Eurydice,

Ladle up the silver sleeping potion!

Ha! For there will I plunge your image, brittle, imperious one;

And your smiling lips full of

Lute-music, your hair's shadowy waves,

The shaking of your white breast,

And that victorious gaze which pierces me through;

I will plunge all of them deep into oblivion.