Something imperial, or imperious, threw
A chain o’er all she did; that is, a chain
Was thrown as ’twere about the neck of you—
And Rapture’s self will seem almost a pain
With aught which looks like despotism in view;
Our souls at least are free, and ’tis in vain
We would against them make the flesh obey—
The spirit in the end will have its way.