Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath;/ We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fullness of death - Algernon Charles Swinburne

Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath;

Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean:
The world has grown grey from thy breath!

Then star nor sun shall waken,
Nor any change of light:
Nor sound of waters shaken,
Nor any sound or sight:
Nor wintry leaves nor vernal;
Nor days nor things diurnal;
Only the sleep eternal
In an eternal night.

Ah, ah, thy beauty! like a beast it bites,
Stings like an adder, like an arrow smites.

It is long since Mr. Carlyle expressed his opinion that if any poet or other literary creature could really be "killed off by one critique" or many, the sooner he was so despatched the better; a sentiment in which I for one humbly but heartily concur.