Monastic Voluptuousness

Yet more,--round many a Convent's blazing fire Unhallowed threads of revelry are spun; There Venus sits disguisèd like a Nun,-- While Bacchus, clothed in semblance of a Friar, Pours out his choicest beverage high and higher Sparkling, until it cannot choose but run Over the bowl, whose silver lip hath won An instant kiss of masterful desire-- To stay the precious waste. Through every brain The domination of the sprightly juice Spreads high conceits to madding Fancy dear, Till the arched roof, with resolute abuse Of its grave echoes, swells a choral strain, Whose votive burthen is--"OUR KINGDOM 'S HERE!"