Land And Sea, Weakness And

O Latest Born And Loveliest Vision Far Of All Olympus' Faded Hierarchy.

But Let Me See Thee Stoop From Heaven On Wings That Fill The Sky With Silver Glitterings!

My Friends Should Drink A Dozen Of Claret On My Tomb.

The Silver, Snarling Trumpets 'gan To Chide.

How I Like Claret!...it Fills One's Mouth With A Gushing Freshness, Then Goes Down To Cool And Feverless; Then, You Do Not Feel It Quarrelling With One's Liver. No; 'tis Rather A Peace-maker, And Lies As Quiet As It Did In The Grape. Then It Is As Fragrant As The Queen Bee, And The More Ethereal Part Mounts Into The Brain, Not Assaulting The Cerebral Apartments, Like A Bully Looking For His Trull, And Hurrying From Door To Door, Bouncing Against The Wainscott, But Rather Walks Like Aladdin About His Enchanted Palace, So Gently That You Do Not Feel His Step.