YOU called your mystic draught Canary sack -- I drank, and dreamed of far-off Southern Seas, And heard the wraiths of vagrant melodies; And Joys and Hopes from some dim shade came back. What blithe feet walked upon a grass-grown track! What glad winds gossiped under summer trees! You called your mystic draught Canary sack -- I drank, and dreamed of far-off Southern Seas. This wine, from strange grapes pressed, upon my track Lets loose the band of Ancient Memories: Now this sole cup my waywardness can please; All other brews some fine distinction lack -- You called your magic draught Canary sack! |