“Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
‘Wretch,’ I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Leia Or(gana);
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Leia Or(gana)!’
Quoth the Porg ‘Nevermore.’”