... then there was war in heaven. But it was not angels. It was that small golden zeppelin, like a long oval world, high up. It seemed as if the cosmic order were gone, as if there had come a new order, a new heavens above us: and as if the world in anger were trying to revoke it.

So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.

And live like Nature's bastards, not her sons.

From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent.

From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone, But rush upon me thronging.

But see! theVirgin blessed Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending.

Herbs, and other country messes, Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses.