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 to Life.
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"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."
"A Moment's Halt—a momentary taste Of Being from the Well amid the Waste—And lo! the Phantom Caravan has reach'd The Nothing it set out from—Oh, make haste!"
"The Fire that on my bosom burns, Is not the Fire of Hell; But the Fire of Love, that turns My Soul into a Bell."
"Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide, And wash the Body whence the Life has died, And in a winding-sheet of Vine-leaf wrapt, So bury me by some sweet Garden-side."
"How many a Cup of this forbidden Wine Must drown the memory of that Hour of thine, When, in the Tavern, thou didst set thy Seal To that dread Bond which binds thee up to mine!"
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