Cosmos

What to me are all your treasures?
Have I need of purchased pleasures,
Craesus, such as thine?
Come, I'll have thee make confession
Thou hast naught in thy possession,
And the world is mine.

I have all that thou hadst never;
Though I'm old, I'm young forever,
And happy I, at ease;
All I wish I can create it;
Wing my soul, and elevate it
Where and when I please.

Of my secret make but trial:
Seest thou this little vial?
Dost thou not, then, think
Magic power to it pertaining,
All the world itself containing,
Though it holds but — ink?