THE DAY'S RATION.
When I was born, From all the seas of strength Fate filled a chalice, Saying, This be thy portion, child; this chalice, Less than a lily's, thou shalt daily draw From my great arteries; nor less, nor more. All substances the cunning chemist Time Melts down into that liquor of my life, Friends, foes, joys, fortunes, beauty, and disgust, And whether I am angry or content, Indebted or insulted, loved or hurt, All he distils into sidereal wine, And brims my little cup; heedless, alas! Of all he sheds how little it will hold, How much runs over on the desert sands. If a new muse draw me with splendid ray, And I uplift myself into her heaven,