Thursday, 2 July 2015

Long live the King

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

There was a king in Thule, 
Was faithful to the grave, 
Whom she that loved him truly 
In dying a goblet gave.

He found no prize more appealing, 
Each feast he drained the cup; 
To his eyes the tears came stealing 
Whenever he held it up.

And when he came to dying, 
The towns in his realm he enrolled, 
His heir no prize denying, 
Except that cup of gold.

And at a royal wassail 
With all his knights sat he 
In the hall of his father's castle 
That faces toward the sea.

The old carouser slowly 
Stood up, drank life's last glow, 
And flung the cup so holy 
Into the flood below.

He saw it plunging, drinking 
As deep in the sea it sank. 
His eyes the while were sinking, 
Not a drop again he drank.