The Love-Potion

Clark Ashton Smith

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.

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