This Is The Very Ecstasy

Here I And Sorrows Sit; Here Is My Throne, Bid Kings Come Bow To It.

Unhappy That I Am, I Cannot Heave My Heart Into My Mouth.

Simply The Thing That I Am Shall Make Me Live.

Lawn As White As Driven Snow; Cyprus Black As E'er Was Crow; Gloves As Sweet As Damask Roses.

You Peasant Swain! You Whoreson Malt-horse Drudge!