You know the old recipe for Wine of Cos, that full-bodied, seignorial, superlative, translunary wine.
"The Mayor of Troy"
Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch
Neat Marlow bathed in the Thespian springs Had in him those braue translunary things, That the first Poets had, his raptures were, All ayre, and fire, which made his verses cleere, For that fine madnes still he did retaine, Which rightly should possesse a Poets braine.
"Minor Poems of Michael Drayton"
Michael Drayton
For feast it is, Though of ethereal, translunary fare- His story who pre-eminently of men Seemed nourished upon starbeams and the stuff Of rainbows, and the tempest, and the foam; Who hardly brooked on his impatient soul The fleshly trammels; whom at last the sea Gave to the fire, from whose wild arms the winds Took him, and shook him broadcast to the world.
"The Poems of William Watson"
William Watson