Browning's Shorter Poems

What spell or what charm,
(For, awhile there was trouble within me) what next should I urge
To sustain him where song had restored, him?  Song filled to the verge
His cup with the wine of this life, pressing all that it yields 130
Of mere fruitage, the strength and the beauty:  beyond, on what fields
Glean a vintage more potent and perfect to brighten the eye,
And bring blood to the lip, and commend them the cup they put by? 
He saith, “It is good:”  still he drinks not:  he lets me praise life,
Gives assent, yet would die for his own part.