The Ella Higginson Blog: "Love's Trembling-Cup"

Love's Trembling-Cup

Unto a woman Love one day
        Came jauntily and said:
“Thou art of haughty mien, but I
        Can lower thy proud head.”

But smiled the woman scornfully:
        “I challenge; do thy worst!
I’ll drink thy bitterest dreg, and cry
        ‘I drank thy nectar first!’”

Then to her lips Love held a cup,
        And joy more keen than pain
Leaped up her pulses to her heart;
        She drank—and drank again.

“Drink deep,” Love said, half-pityingly;
        “Poor foolish one, drink deep;
Then to thy couch—a night comes on
        When thou wilt pray for sleep.”

For one year and a day she knew

The rapture of the blest—

Such ecstasy as Mary thrilled

        When Christ slept on her breast.

Then came Love to her jauntily,
        And looked into her eyes;
“I have another cup for thee;
        The hour has come—arise!”

But smiled the woman scornfully:

“It is the cup of pain;

I drank thy nectar first—and now” —

She proudly drank again.

“I like thy spirit well,” Love said;

        “Come, keep thy courage up.”
He held before her dauntless eyes
        Still yet another cup,

And lightly dropped the broken pearl
        Of broken faith; it sank
And melted in the amber dregs;
        With pallid lips she drank.

The look of death grew in her eyes,
        She did not shrink or speak,
But up the gray of ashes came
        And covered brow and cheek.

“Now drink,” quoth Love, “my bitterest cup,
        The cup of jealousy;
But first look in its ruby depths,
        And speak. What dost thou see?”

She saw another woman’s breast

Pillow his head; and there

Those sweeter, younger, lingering lips

Pressed kisses on his hair.

The cup shook on her teeth; she drank,

And bowed her head, and cried:

“Love, ere I drank thy nectar first,
Would God that I had died!”