Lords Are Lordliest In Their Wine.

Him That Yon Soars On Golden Wing, Guiding The Fiery-wheelèd Throne, The Cherub Contemplation.

A Poet Soaring In The High Reason Of His Fancies, With His Garland And Singing Robes About Him.

Virtue Hath No Tongue To Check Vice's Pride.

Taste This, And Be Henceforth Among The Gods Thyself A Goddess.

The Love-lorn Nightingale Nightly To Thee Her Sad Song Mourneth Well.