Poised ’twixt the blushing ecstasy, and the frore
Spectre of ruinous side.
“What is’t to me, this social affluence,
The agglomerate frame of peace, when ecstasy
Raps loudly at my soul? What gain hast thou?
Yon dismal gloom, barren and dim and chill,
Say, what felicity
Commensurate with this Lady’s exquisite sense
Bestows it? Utter thy delightful fill
Alternate for my choice; hereafter, now,