Chapter VII: In a Bar Room

Across the polished board, wet and ashine,
Appalling incantations late have passed.—
For some, the mercy of dull anodyne;
For others, hope destined an hour to last.
Here has been sold courage to lift the weak
That they embrace a great and noble doom.
Here some have bought a clue they did not seek
Into the wastes of an engulfing gloom.
And amorous tears, and high indignant hate,
Laughter, desires, passions, and hopes, and rest,—
The drunkard’s sleep, the poet’s shout to fate,—
All from these bottles filled a human breast!
Magician of the apron! Let us see—
What is that draught you are shaking now for me?