And still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields, And still a Garden by the Water builds: Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest; Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!
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"The Grape that can with Logic absolute The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute: The sovereign Alchemist that in a trice Fills the all-empty Spirit, and can transmute Base Metal into Gold, and Gold t…"
"There was a Door to which I found no Key: There was a Veil past which I could not see: Some little Talk awhile of Me and Thee There was—and then no more of Thee and Me."
"The Potter, having labor’d long and sore In many a Wheel, turns out at last no more Than a broken Pot, which he throws away, And then begins his work again as before."
"The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes, But right or left as strikes the Player goes; And He that toss'd you down into the Field, He knows about it all—He knows—He knows!"
"The Potter's Circle, where the pots are made, and broken, and made again, is the symbol of life and death."
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