Milton indeed enjoys superlatives.
He loves them even more than cursing popes.
The best and most sublime inflate his hopes.
He knows the gift that never overgives.
At elevations most extreme he lives
In his vast, sightless mind, which ain’t no dope’s.
He weaves and ties the knottiest of ropes.
His thought pursues the swiftest fugitives
That ever fled poetic definition—
And now that Pope Francisco, having messed
With Buenos Aires, holds in vile submission
The Roman Church, which never gave you rest,
O Milton, from your dread of superstition,
I say you are the greatest and the best!