Page:Poems, Emerson, 1847.djvu/233

221 THE DAY'S RATION.

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 its heaven,