The Two Goblets

Bearing two crystal goblets in her hands To a philosopher an Angel came: One wine shone clear as water o’er white sands, One red as flame. “Choose!” said the Angel. “From life’s wine-press flows For all mankind the vintage which I bring. The pale cup holds exemption from life’s woes, The red brings suffering.” “One wine is colourless,” the dreamer said. “Who suffer keenest nobler joys attain.” And to the dregs drained from the goblet red The draught of pain. Then spake the Angel: “Thou hast chosen well. What seemeth loss to thee shall prove thy gain. All that is pure, and sweet, and beautiful Is born of pain.”