If dream, turn real! If a vision, stay! Take mortal shape, my philtre's spell obey! If hags compel thee from thy secret sky With gruesome incantations, why not I, Whose only magic is that I distil

A potion, blent of passion, thought, and will,

Deeper in reach, in force of fate more rich,

Than e'er was juice wrung by Thessalian witch

From moon-enchanted herbs, - a potion brewed

Of my best life in each diviner mood? 130 Myself the elixir am, myself the bowl Seething and mantling with my soul of soul. Taste and be humanized: what though the cup,

With thy lips frenzied, shatter? Drink it up!