The sacred influence of light appears.
And fast by, hanging in a golden chain, This pendent world, in bigness as a star Of smallest magnitude, close by the moon.
Now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.
Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.
Fairy damsels met in forest wide / By knights of Logres, or of Lyones, / Lancelot or Pelleas, or Pellenore.
Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy.