Two things there are in heaven above
And earth below—the greater, Love,
The lesser, Death—and therefor grew
Heart’s-ease and rosemary and rue
And myrrh and moly, magic plants;
These, and a common rose or two
Besprent with Indiana dew,
My wizard gathers from their haunts;
Distils the balmy, subtle juice
To make a spell of potent use;
Filters a seeming simple wine
Nectared with some drops most rare—
(How he finds the tinct or where,
Not the critics can divine!)
Whoso gives the wine his lips,
Sipping smiles, and laughing sips;
But, before he drinks it up,
Tears have trickled in the cup.