Page:Poems by Robert Louis Stevenson, Hitherto unpublished, 1921.djvu/42

 Laid out with silver vessels and brown bread

And some hot pasty smoking at the head

With odorous vapour, and the jug afloat

With bitter, amber ale that stings the throat

Or figured glasses full of purple wine.

Or should one ask for pleasures more divine,

Then let him draw toward the pleasant blaze

And in the warm still chamber, let him raise

Blue wreaths of pungent vapor from the bowl,

That glows and dusks like an ignited coal

At every inhalation of sweet smoke.

So shall he clear a stage for that quaint folk,

The brood of dreams, that faëry puppet race

That will not dance but on a vacant space;

And purge from every prejudice or creed

His easy spirit, that with greater speed,

He may outrun the boundaries of art

And grapple with grim questionings of heart. [ 34 ]