Sonnet Xvi:

XVI All the world's malice, all the spite of fate, Cannot undo the rapture of the past. I, like a victor, hold these glories fast; And here defy the envious powers that wait Upon the crumbling fortunes of our state To snatch this myrtle chaplet, or to blast Its smallest leaf. Thus to the wind I cast The poet's laurel, and before their date Summon the direst terrors of my doom: For with this myrtle symbol of my love, I reign exultant, and am fixed above The petty fates that other joys consume. As on a flowery path through life I'll move; As through an arch of triumph, pass the tomb.