Because (and how my friends will chortle!)
I shall be more than just immortal.
Into the clear and boundless air
I shall ascend with sounding pinions.
Shouting a buoyant “I don’t care,”
Laughing at kings and their dominions.
And folks will say (how well you know it!),
“Q. Flaccus? Ah, he was a poet!”
My wings shall sprout,—why, even now
I feel all creepy and absurd-like,—