And riots through the luxuries of thought.
Call it, the garden of the Deity,
Blossom’d with stars, redundant in the growth
Of fruit ambrosial; moral fruit to man.
Call it, the breastplate of the true High Priest,
Ardent with gems oracular, that give,
In points of highest moment, right response;
And ill neglected, if we prize our peace.
Thus, have we found a true astrology;
Thus, have we found a new, and noble sense, 1050