Circe monologue — Circe : $b A dramatic fantasy

Little indeed Know they or seem to reck, who find my door, By the four winds or vague desire impell’d. Not of the herbs alone, wherewith I work Transforming magic, and of their antidotes Is saving knowledge to human sense denied; But the mere man in equal measure lacks Perception of all that inner occult domain Which on my mystic vision rises clear And blends harmonious with material scenes. Therefore, what mortals know I know more surely, Crowning their wisdom with profounder lore. How oft do they who come, while at this board They swill and gloat, ere yet the damning cup I proffer, boast large deeds and prate of what They call _experience_—in the same breath imploring Guidance, which I with gracious hand might lend, Seem’d they but worthy. [_PHILINNA nods assent._]