TAX not the royal Saint with vain expense, With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned -- Albeit labouring for a scanty band Of white robed Scholars only -- this immense And glorious Work of fine intelligence! Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore Of nicely-calculated less or more; So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering -- and wandering on as loth to die; Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EACH IN HIS OWN TONGUE by WILLIAM HERBERT CARRUTH INVOCATION [TO LOVE] by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: CHRIST'S REPLY by EDWARD TAYLOR MEDITATION AT KEW by ANNA WICKHAM THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH NAMELESS PAIN by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |