There Was A Glorious Time At An Epoch Of My Prime; Mornings Beryl-Bespread, And Evenings Golden-Red; Nothing Gray: And In My Heart I Said, "However This Chanced To Be, It Is Too Full For Me, Too Rare, Too Rapturous, Rash, Its Spell Must Close With A Crash Some Day!" The Radiance Went On Anon And Yet Anon, And Sweetness Fell Around Like Manna On The Ground. "I've No Claim," Said I, "To Be Thus Crowned: I Am Not Worthy This:- Must It Not Go Amiss? - Well . . . Let The End Foreseen Come Duly! - I Am Serene." - And It Came.