Classic Poem

One summer night, a poet
Went to a corner-store
And said, " I come for cooling words,
Well-mixed with lore. "

The thin-cheeked chemist answered,
" In all the years that I
Have withered at this counter
This ever was youth's cry.

He muttered leeches' Latin
To a transparent jar
Half-full of bright liquid
Such as words are.

" I had a clerk once, " he recalled,
Until his eyes grew bright,
" He was the one could pour you words
Upon St. Agnes' night. "

Then all along the crystal shelves
There ran a flash of blue.
The chemist's pale lips quivered —
" Ah, these remember, too! "

The summer midnight that had burned,
Chilled to St. Agnes' Eve:
The poet to the chemist turned
And whispered: " I believe! "