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.