The Art of Letters

by Robert Lynd

And, there arriv’d, a new admired guest,

The beauteous spirits do ingirt thee round,

White lope, blithe Helen, and the rest,

To hear the stories of thy finisht love

From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move;

but it fades by way of beauty into the triviality of convention in the second verse:

Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights,

Of masks and revels which sweet youth did make,

Of tourneys and great challenges of knights,

And all these triumphs for thy beauty’s sake: