Well done, George.
ENDYMION
A thong of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will cling,
The merest stalk or vine, a paltry string,
A flowery band whose daring, gentle wreathing
Engenders dreams and less than quiet breathing.
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape beneath it moves away the pall,
'Gainst the hot season, in imagined rooms,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms.
We trace its route beneath the sloping butt
And muse upon the thong of beauty cut
To grant us passage to immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
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