As drinking-cups whereof old rhymers tell,
In twilight ages all with wonders rife,
Were given, by mystic herb and midnight spell,
The gift to summon Love—to summon Life!—
So this for thee, lest aught should come between,
This little claspéd cup, and charm of wine
Love singing trod with feet of heavenly sheen,
I set away: it shall be always thine.
Thine to restore, with magic strong and strange,
The might of meeting eyes and near, warm breath;
That there shall be no Time nor any Change,
Nor any room for such a thing as Death!