Glancing upward, with wondering eye,
The marvelous tea-pot did he spy,
Boldly gleaming against the sky.
Ah, old tea-pot, gleaming still,
What is the magic that guards from ill,
From tempest, and war, and time, and fire—
All for thy ruin that conspire?
Behold thee, shining so bright and gay!
Old tea-pot, art thou bewitched, I say?
If that be true, and in some hour