Classic Poem

I sit beside the hearth, and, for an hour,
I watch the steam that shakes the kettle's lid,
Like some live thing that struggles hard to rid
Its limbs of bondage, and assert its power.

Yea, like some fiend that Solomon made cower,
And who, for countless centuries was bid
Dwell in a bottle which the deep sea hid,
Where, tight compressed, it panted still to tower:

What if this vapour were a stronger thing
Than all the genii cast into the sea
And curst for ever by the Wizard King?

And what if I one day should set it free,
And break the seal of Solomon's own ring,
And make the Daemon do my drudgery?