# The Soul Of A Century/Cup of youth

CUP OF YOUTH
A dying lustre lingers as in fright Upon his sunken cheeks and greyish hair, Upon the wrinkled face and eyes that stare Out of the window at the charming night. How sweet to gaze into the golden breeze, To watch the flight of swallows, flies and bees, And see the blooming trees snow laden tresses. About his temples, warm evening breezes glide, Laughter and song ring out on every side While the soul imbibes the evening’s warm caresses. The dreaming man sees in bewitching splendour Time long gone by, his heart hears the refrain Of mighty longing and a grief so tender. “Come back once more. Be young, be young again . . .”
With rising violence this yearning fills his heart The bosom’s heavy sighs no power can restrain His moistened eyes with bitter grief now smart, “Oh Paradise come back . . . Be young again . .”
Suddenly, on the crimson cloud appears A lovely creature of some airy spheres A light-hued image that beckons from the haze, With a smile that lights his stirring youthful dream. He used to see her with his soul agleam But ne’er beheld her with his human gaze. She quivers in the room with charms untold And lifts a crystal goblet to his lip A goblet bubbling with a foaming dew, A rosy garland forms about its tip A blushing ornament set fresh anew.
“Your burning wish now shall be satisfied. This cup of reborn youth shall weave the spell Drink . . By this nectar you will be revived, The stream of life’s young spring again shall swell. Your soul again with sparkling stars will shine Your bosom heavy with happiness divine The golden bird of love your heart shall spear Your eyes will sparkle with a youthful fire, Your hair again wave to your heart's desire, Your cheeks turn light, and wrinkles disappear Worry and boredom shall leave you with a wink, A Poem will refresh your soul . . Come, drink.”
The vision’s voice sounds like music from afar The goblet sparkles temptingly on high While with a trembling hand he reaches for the star Whose lovely scent the cup exhales so nigh, Fresh as the breath of woods ’neath summer skies A scent as sweet as the balmy breath of spring; His soul is rocked in dreams of paradise While golden bells within him sweetly ring . . . But suddenly his outstretched hand withdraws, Shadows of doubt cause him to ask and pause, “Is there a drop with magic to forget, In all the pearly wine you hold?” he asks.
“That mystic drop my goblet truly lacks, For Lethes shores, around your dreams are set.”
Should I then cast away life’s heavy role To gain my youth, but keep within my soul A memory of all Life took away And that I know from me again will seize? To know that youth’s ideals are fancy’s plays, Inspired mottoes, just words cast to the breeze. Should I return to Life’s young merriment With the mournful thought of how rare it is to hold A faithful friend, what shallow sentiment Is hid beneath even best friendship’s mold? How easily the warmest hands turn cool How oft hearts change, when the mask no more can fool.
How suddenly man shivers, left alone, Chilled by man’s selfishness, as cold as stone? Should I return then with a youthful heart To love-stirred yearning, though I understand That the aura that gives love its gilded part Is just a trinket from a story land? What I called heaven turns to earth once more Heavenly manna is only the bread of yore, That saintly love to which young dreams give birth Holds its airy throne high up above the earth. Should my ambition’s flame rise up again When I have learned that fame but sparks in vain, That it is not worth the anguish and defeat That empty, hollow laurel’s woven wreath Should I retain within my memories nook, How small, deceitful all that our young soul Sees hallowed with perfections very look? How futile is this earthly sham and role Where ’neath the banners of ideals and dreams And to the tunes of jeweled words, as tools They speak of honor, truth and love’s sweet schemes While only passion and cold metal rules?
Away tempting glass . . . I will be satisfied With my grey hairs . . . Tis easier to bear The weight of age than youth of sham deprived It is this sham that gives youth charm and glare When Life’s crude hand destroys the golden thread Of youthful dreams, and when the eye through tears Sees the emptiness of earthly joy and dread, And man in vain weeps for his bygone years. Then but in vain we seek lost Eden’s shore Deprived of all the charms it knew before.
Away from my threshold, thwarted disillusioned truth Of saddened dreams . . . Away false cup of youth. ’Tis farewell to you, young lovely form Farewell for e’er . . . In peace I would grow old In peace await the passing of life’s storm When another vision will moist my lips grown cold, From out an agate goblet of black wine With the mystic ferment of forgetfulness divine.
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