Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832)

THERE was a king in Thule,

Right faithful to his grave,

To whom his dying sweetheart

A golden goblet gave.

Naught else he loved above it,

He emptied it every meal;

And so he used to love it—

The tears from his eyes would steal.

He felt that he was dying,

And gave unto his heir

The towns in his kingdom lying—

But not the goblet rare.

He sat at the banquet royal

In the old hall solemnly,

With all his vassals loyal,

In the castle by the sea.

There stood the aged monarch

And drank life’s sunset glow;

And cast the sacred goblet

Into the flood below.

He saw it rushing, drinking,

Into the sea it sank.

His eyelids old were sinking—

Ne’er more a drop he drank.