Of closing 'gainst the light their orbs of vision:
While gentle writers also love to lift
Their voices 'gainst each other, which is natural,
The numbers are too great for them to flatter all.
LXXXIX.
Rose the Sultana from a bed of splendour,
Softer than the soft Sybarite's, who cried[357]
Aloud because his feelings were too tender
To brook a ruffled rose-leaf by his side,—
So beautiful that Art could little mend her,