The Shepherd'S Brow Fronting Forked Lightning, Owns The Horror And The Havoc And The Glory Of It. Angels Fall, They Are Towers, From Heaven - A Story Of Just, Majestical, And Giant Groans. But Man - We, Scaffold Of Score Brittle Bones; Who Breathe, From Groundlong Babyhood To Hoary Age Gasp; Whose Breath Is Our Memento Mori - What Bass Is Our Viol For Tragic Tones? He! Hand To Mouth He Lives, And Voids With Shame; And, Blazoned In However Bold The Name, Man Jack The Man Is, Just; His Mate A Hussy. And I That Die These Deaths, That Feed This Flame, That ... In Smooth Spoons Spy Life'S Masque Mirrored: Tame My Tempests There, My Fire And Fever Fussy.