How was I carried to that lofty place?
Woman of weak and frail mortality;
Trembling, pale, in just timidity ,
What right had I to look upon your face?
In idle whim, you offered me to sup
With you just once, on nectar; and so sweet
It seared my lips... your gaze I could not meet
As once again your hand retrieved the cup.

When ever did I seek the Elysian Field ?
(Being no Danae, nor Europa fair),
Flung from Olympian heights in bleak despair,
I curse the day that ever I did yield.
For this, my mortal life, is now laid waste
By that one sip... remembering the taste!