Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.
For what is glory but the blaze of fame?
Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy.
Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, In twisted braids of lilies knitting The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair.
Hide me from day's garish eye.
Hence, loathรจd Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy.