Bearing two crystal goblets in her hands
To a philosopher an Angel came:
One wine shone clear as water o-er white sands,
One red as flame.
-Choose!� said the Angel. -From life-s wine-press flows
For all mankind the vintage which I bring.
The pale cup holds exemption from life-s woes,
The red brings suffering.�

-One wine is colourless,� the dreamer said.
-Who suffer keenest nobler joys attain.�
And to the dregs drained from the goblet red
The draught of pain.

Then spake the Angel: -Thou hast chosen well.
What seemeth loss to thee shall prove thy gain.
All that is pure, and sweet, and beautiful
Is born of pain.�