569I reckon—when I count it all—First—Poets—Then the Sun—Then Summer—Then the Heaven of God—And then—the List is done—But, looking back—the First so
To Comprehend the Whole—The Others look a needless Show—So I write—Poets—All—Their Summer—lasts a Solid Year—They can afford a
The East—would deem extravagant—And if the Further Heaven—Be Beautiful as they
For Those who worship Them—It is too difficult a Grace—To justify the Dream—
