Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

   From morn till night, from night till startled morn
   Peeps blushing on the revel’s laughing crew,
   The song is heard, the rosy garland worn;
   Devices quaint, and frolics ever new,
   Tread on each other’s kibes.  A long adieu
   He bids to sober joy that here sojourns: 
   Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu
   Of true devotion monkish incense burns,
And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns.