The Loving Cup, Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1867)
The Loving Cup
From her loving cup do I gladly drink.
Contents requires no aphrodisiac.
Single taste takes me to euphoric brink.
A drop on my tongue there’s no turning back.
Fragrance in the cup devoids my senses.
Putty am I in the hand that feeds me,
Yet a feeling that there are no fences,
No darting impulse this amour to flee.
Between both hands holding her loving cup,
As insurance it will not get away.
For hour upon hour will wantonly sup.
Desire be no reason to ever stray.
To infinity she be my Hebe,
Her cup as the moon has captured this sea.