The first cup moistens my lips and throat. The second breaks my loneliness. The third searches my barren entrails but to find therein some thousand volumes of odd ideographs. The fourth cup raises a slight perspiration - all the wrongs of life pass out through my pores. At the fifth cup I am purified. The sixth calls me to the realms of the immortals. The seventh cup - ah! but I could take no more! I only feel the breath of the cool wind that raises in my sleeves. Where is Elysium? Let me ride on this sweet breeze and draft away thither.