The Potion Of Dreams

What occult Circe of the hours of sleep Mixeth the Cup of Dreams with potent art? How doth the sorceress cunningly impart To it such wondrous virtues, and where steep That powerful potion? Opium poppies' brew Nor hasheesh from far India's mystic land Have not such properties, nor can command Visions of more fantastic form and hue. Pleasure and pain in mingling mystical Are in that cup. There past and present meet, With pageantry of earthly sights and sounds. Abysses bottomless, heights that appall With plainlands infinite about their feet, And seas horizonless, lie in its bounds.