I did it, once. I held it in my palm:
the bottle's glass put out a sapphire light.
Inside, electric tongues, pale green and white,
traversed the cylinder with eerie calm.
My hair stood up, and spasms wracked my hand
as I considered what I had contained,
whose power and energy were once ordained
to mighty Zeus alone--mine to command!
But soon the phial grew cool--glass cracked and split,
the light within winked out, became diffuse,
and then just disappeared. It was no use.
It came, then danced, then died--and that was it.
One moment this hand held eternal flame;
a moment more than many men can claim.