XXXVI.

 I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
 Articulation answer'd, once did live,
   And drink; and Ah! the passive Lip I kiss'd,
 How many Kisses might it take--and give!


XXXVII.

 For I remember stopping by the way
 To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay:
   And with its all-obliterated Tongue
 It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"


XXXVIII.

 And has not such a Story from of Old
 Down Man's successive generations roll'd
   Of such a clod of saturated Earth
 Cast by the Maker into Human mold?


XXXIX.

 And not a drop that from our Cups we throw
 For Earth to drink of, but may steal below
   To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye
 There hidden--far beneath, and long ago.


XL.

 As then the Tulip for her morning sup
 Of Heav'nly Vintage from the soil looks up,
   Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav'n
 To Earth invert you--like an empty Cup.