Where the red moon, inches above our heads, Will exclude us from its light, apheliotropically, in the end.

His chronic lateness will cost him a promotion if not his job.

Three hours later—fashionably late, of course—the Stuart party swept in state into their box.

What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield That wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin, Wherewith she freezed her foes to congealed stone, But rigid looks of chaste austerity, And noble grace that dashed brute violence With sudden adoration and blank awe?