'In Paris, at the Louvre, there have I seen br The sumptuously-feathered angel pierce br Prone Lucifer, descending. Looked he fierce, br Showing the fight a fair one? Too serene! br The young Pharsalians did not disarray br Less willingly their locks of floating silk: br That suckling mouth of his, upon the milk br Of heaven might still be feasting through the fray. br Oh, Raphael! when men the Fiend do fight, br They conquer not upon such easy terms. br Half serpent in the struggle grow these worms br And does he grow half human, all is right.' br This to my Lady in a distant spot, br Upon the theme: While mind is mastering clay, br Gross clay invades it.