Come, blue-eyed maid of heaven! - but thou, alas, From Childe Harold's Pilgrimage by Lord Byron
Didst never yet one mortal song inspire -
Goddess of Wisdom! here thy temple was, She must have been very wise, demanding a uppercase W
And is, despite of war and wasting fire,
And years, that bade thy worship to expire:
But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow,
Is the drear sceptre and dominion dire Very long poems can also be demanding
Of men who never felt the sacred glow
That thoughts of thee and thine on polished breasts bestow.