The heart you hold too small and local thing,
Such spacious terms of edifice to bear.
And yet, since Poesy first shook out her wing,
The mighty Love has been impalaced there;
That has she given him as his wide demesne,
And for his sceptre ample empery;
Against its door to knock has Beauty
Content; it has its purple canopyA dais for the sovereign lady
Of many a lover, who the heaven would
Too low an awning for her sacred head.
The world, from star to sea, cast down its brink-- Yet shall that chasm, till He Who these did build An awful Curtius make Him, yawn unfilled.
IO nothing, in this corporal earth of man,
That to the imminent heaven of his high
Responds with colour and with shadow,
Lack correlated greatness. If the
Where thoughts lie fast in spell of
Be mighty through its mighty habitants;
If God be in His Name; grave potence
The sounds unbind of hieratic chants;
All's vast that vastness means. Nay,
I
Nature is whole in her least things exprest,
Nor know we with what scope God builds the worm.
Our towns are copied fragments from our breast; And all man's Babylons strive but to impart The grandeurs of his Babylonian heart.
