Men Of Most Renowned Virtue Have Sometimes

When Thou Attended Gloriously From Heaven , Shalt In The Sky Appear, And From Thee Send Thy Summoning Archangels To Proclaim Thy Dread Tribunal.

Bid Amaranthus All His Beauty Shed, And Daffodillies Fill Their Cups With Tears, To Strew The Laureate To Hearse When Lycid Lies.

I Was All Ear, And Took In Strains That Might Create A Soul Under The Ribs Of Death.

So Satan, Whom Repulse Upon Repulse Met Ever, And To Shameful Silence Brought, Yet Gives Not O'er Though Desperate Of Success.

Can Any Mortal Mixture Of Earth's Mould Breathe Such Divine Enchanting Ravishment?