The Lost Elixir.

"One drop of ruddy human blood puts more life into the veins of a poem than all the delusive 'aurum potabile' that can be distilled out of the choicest library."--Lowell. Ah, yes, that "drop of human blood!"-- We had it once, may be, When our young song's impetuous flood First poured its ecstasy; But now the shrunk poetic vein Yields not that priceless drop again. We toil,--as toiled we not of old; Our patient hands distil The shining spheres of chemic gold With hard-won, fruitless skill; But that red drop still seems to be Beyond our utmost alchemy. Perchance, but most in later age, Time's after-gift, a tear, Will strike a pathos on the page Beyond all art sincere; But that "one drop of human blood" Has gone with life's first leaf and bud.