Charles on Fire by James Merrill

Charles on Fire

Another evening we sprawled about discussing

Appearances. And it was the consensus

That while uncommon physical good looks

Continued to launch one, as before, in life

(Among its vaporous eddies and false claims),

Still, as one of us said into his beard,

"Without your intellectual and spiritual 

Values, man, you are sunk." No one but squared

The shoulders of their own unlovliness.

Long-suffering Charles, having cooked and served the meal,

Now brought out little tumblers finely etched

He filled with amber liquor and then passed.

"Say," said the same young man, "in Paris, France,

They do it this way"--bounding to his feet

And touching a lit match to our host's full glass.

A blue flame, gentle, beautiful, came, went

Above the surface. In a hush that fell

We heard the vessel crack. The contents drained

As who should step down from a crystal coach.

Steward of spirits, Charles's glistening hand

All at once gloved itself in eeriness.

The moment passed. He made two quick sweeps and

Was flesh again. "It couldn't matter less,"

He said, but with a shocked, unconscious glance

Into the mirror. Finding nothing changed,

He filled a fresh glass and sank down among us.