After a debauch of thunder-shower, the weather takes the pledge and signs it with a rainbow.
I beg you come tonight and dine A welcome waits you and sound wine The Roederer chilly to a charm As Juno's breasts the claret warm.
With the tears a Land hath shed. Their graves should ever be green.
The ocean moans over dead men's bones.
What probing deep Has ever solved the mystery of sleep?
Between the reputation of the author living and the reputation of the same author dead there is ever a wide discrepancy.