THE soul of man is larger than the sky, Deeper than ocean, or the abysmal dark Of the unfathomed centre. Like that ark, Which in its sacred hold uplifted high, O'er the drowned hills, the human family, And stock reserved of every living kind, So, in the compass of the single mind, The seeds and pregnant forms in essence lie, That make all worlds. Great poet, 't was thy art To know thyself, and in thyself to be Whate'er love, hate, ambition, destiny, Or the firm fatal purpose of the heart Can make of man. Yet thou wert still the same, Serene of thought, unhurt by thy own flame. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ODE TO THE FRAMERS OF THE FRAME BILL by GEORGE GORDON BYRON LOST AND FOUND by GEORGE MACDONALD RIDDLE: A STAR by MOTHER GOOSE THE MORAL FABLES: THE MOUSE AND THE PADDOCK by AESOP SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 7. THEY MEET AGAIN by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 30. THE HUNTER CAUGHT BY HIS OWN GAMER by PHILIP AYRES |