That I could number all the stars anon
And shut the waters in a tiny glass
Belike I thought, when in this narrow sheet
I got a fancy to record, alas,
How many ways this Beauty's paragon
Hath spread her light, while standing self-complete,
So that from her I never could retreat....
She's closed for me all paths in earth and sky.
The reflective modern mind is clear in this, despite its loquacity. He was yet more eloquent and intense, more fertile in comparisons, when his happiest days were over.
In Ode 24, standing at a window he watches the strange forms his imagination conjures up--a wild creature torn in pieces by two dogs, a ship wrecked by a storm, a laurel shattered by lightning: