Lament of Yasmini

GOD made me in an idle hour,
A chalice fit for wine alone.
O would that he had made a flower,
A wandering planet, or a stone.

O would he had not pleasured him,
Dallying, that day among the days,
To mould the cup’s curved perfect rim,
That soon the red wine should upraise.

Alas, wan in the waning light
The wine that to his gaze was given.
The cup was full of tears . . . That night
God wept upon the throne of Heaven.