The Love-Potion

Sluggish drops of sullen balm; Blood-red wine from fruits of bane, Subtly mixed with polar snows Melted in a harlot’s palm; Attar from the firstling rose On the grave of lovers slain:

Featly find and featly bring These, to make the magistral Fraught with clear, unholy fire, That shall end the languishing Of a queen, and rouse desire In a heart funereal.