So close the heights to things set cycle deep In mould; so rich the hearts that fruiting keep Star plantings, moon ripenings, and the zest of sun In their quiet aisles—as infinite in one— So—but a grey of gossamer to hide All things, or nothing; humility, or pride— Of a like dust, ending to begin, As outer find its flaming Self within. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LILLIPUTIAN ODE ON THEIR MAJESTIES' ACCESSION by HENRY CAREY (1687-1743) OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE by WILLIAM MCKENDREE CARLETON THE OLD MAN OF VERONA by CLAUDIAN EPITHALAMION MADE AT LINCOLNES INNE by JOHN DONNE THE STENOGRAPHERS by PATRICIA KATHLEEN PAGE |