In Dim Eclipse, Disastrous Twilight Sheds On

Fame Is No Plant That Grows On Mortal Soil.

Fairy Elves, Whose Midnight Revels By A Forest Side Or Fountain Some Belated Peasant Sees, Or Dreams He Sees, While Overhead The Moon Sits Arbitress.

Who Knows Not Circe, The Daughter Of The Sun , Whose Charmed Cup Whoever Tasted, Lost His Upright Shape, And Downward Fell Into A Groveling Swine?

So May'st Thou Live, Till Like Ripe Fruit Thou Drop Into Thy Mother's Lap.

All Seemed Well Pleased, All Seemed, But Were Not All.