Classic Poem

XXI.

" Ha! this in truth is royal wine!
Thy breath, methinks, is in the bowl.
What earthly clogs can now confine
The strength that fills my limbs, my soul?

XXII.

" I seem on wings aloft to rise,
And float o'er fading land and sea;
And yet I would not climb the skies
To rule the stars, if torn from thee.

XXIII.

" Thou turn'st away. At least a while
Come sit, enchantress, near my side,
'Tis much if but to see thee smile,
And here thy lips' low music glide.

XXIV.

" And ah! thou loveliest, now indeed,
While thus thy hand is locked in mine,
While on thy face my looks may feed,
Thou hast a potion more than wine. "

XXV.

" My Liege, the health my drugs can give,
Will thus depart as soon as won.
An hour in throbless quiet live,
And then for thee my task is done.