Invocation

O Glass-Blower of time,
   Hast blown all shapes at thy fire?
Canst thou no lovelier bell,
   No clearer bubble, clear as delight, inflate me --
Worthy to hold such wine
   As was never yet trod from the grape,
Since the stars shed their light, since the moon
   Troubled the night with her beauty?

by Clara Shanafelt

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