To you, O seraphs, where you lean your breasts
Upon the perfumed clouds of sunsetting,
And your huge wings, enormous, like a swan's,
Alone cover with silver plumes of fire
Your long sides, strange as pictures in Toledo—
"O seraphs, with your melting eyes like girls',
And rosy breasts embosomed in the eve,
Vouchsafe to us a little rain of coins,
Of golden sequins tumbling through our sleep;
Give us of heavenly gold, we have none earthly,