THE more they peer through lenses at the night, The finer they split rays of stellar light, The vaster their estimates Of distances, of movements, and of weights! The stupor of this unimagined size Like a mole's eyelid palls the keenest eyes. Yea, like unearthed moles, We, by truth tortured, writhe outside those holes.. Dark homely galleries of confined thought, Whose utmost reach must now be held as naught Compared with that grand space Which those unlike us may superbly grace. Substance more subtle, forms of comelier growth, Diviner minds, nothing but mental sloth Prevents us thus to bid Against the size revealed, with worth still hid. No reason can be urged why all this room Should hold no more life than, within a tomb, The first small worm that stirs; For all known life is less in the universe. Undreamable communications, sun To sun, may be the hourly routes they run, Swifter even than light, On business purer than a child's delight! Not that I can, like scornful Plato, fear Our fine things but poor copies of true worth; Proportioned to this earth, There thrill and shape small genuine glories here. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE LADIES by MARY LEE CHUDLEIGH LOVE AND TIME by WALTER RALEIGH SONNET: 2. FEBRUARY AFTERNOON by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS TO THE LADY IN THE CHIMSETTE WITH BLACK BUTTONS by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS |