Tell me not of pleasures, flowing 
From the rosy goblet, glowing 
With a bane, though bright it be, 
Deadlier than the Upas tree ; 
It hath scathed the brightest blossoms, 
Doom’d to shame the proudest bosoms, 
Dimm’d the sheen of Love’s pure heaven, 
Friendship’s brilliant fetters riven, 
Blighted youth’s fond hopes forever,— 
Tell me not,—oh, never, never, - 
Tell me not of pleasures flowing, 
From the rosy goblet glowing, 
With a bane, though bright it be, 
Deadlier than the Upas tree. 
