Sonnet CLVIII:
I raise this mantling beaker to my lip,
Filled with the dews and perfumes of the Rhine;
The clustering bubbles proudly swell and shine,
As on the tiny waves they rise and dip.
Holding this precious crystal, ere I sip
With thirsty haste, its freight of lucid wine;
What name is worthy of this draught divine?
With that libation shall the goblet drip?
Breathing thy name, I hurl the glass, with all
Its fiery essence whirled in glittering rain,
Against the farthest corner of the wall.
O shattered vessel, nothing shall profane
Henceforth thy dedication, nor recall
To meaner use thy sacred wreck again.
