I at the banquet of the gods have sate
⁠Above the clouds that shroud these earthly plains,
Their nectar quaffed, and their ambrosia ate,
⁠And felt the Olympian ichor in my veins.

Apollo, like a glory in a gloom,
⁠Jove's thund’rous brow, and Juno's face serene,
Chaste Dian's grace, the auroral blush and bloom
⁠That Venus owns, these mortal eyes have seen.

Mad with desire I strove the charm to seize
⁠That should again renew to sense and soul
On earth below those heavenly ecstasies, —
⁠And I their nectar and ambrosia stole.

But who against the gods shall e'er prevail?
⁠The bliss of heaven on earth we may not own;
Stale tastes the nectar here, the ambrosia stale,
⁠The ethereal flavor lost, the aroma flown.

And so the gods condemn me here to stand
⁠Thirsting within the stream that from me flees,
Hungering 'mid fruits ambrosial that my hand
⁠Forever vainly reaches out to seize.

My sense the music of Apollo haunts,
⁠But dim and distant and beyond my reach;
I hear afar the gods' grand utterance,
⁠But cannot shape it into mortal speech.

In silence still I feel as in a dream
⁠Their dim, mysterious whisperings everywhere, —
On the lone hills, in forest, reed, and stream,
⁠In night's low breathings, in the sea's despair.

So taunting ever with half-confidence
⁠That wins the listening ear, but will not speak,
Pleasing and puzzling all the soul and sense,
⁠The gods forever mock us mortals weak.

O poets, in whatever realm or clime,
⁠Pity me — Tantalus — for you must feel
How nature lures us on with dreams sublime,
⁠And hints the secret she will ne'er reveal!