Subtler than music, quieter than light,

The Power that wrought those changes; and the last

Were all implied and folded in the first,

As the gnarled oak-tree with its thousand boughs

Writhing to heaven and striking its grim roots

Like monstrous talons into the mountain’s heart

Is pent in one smooth acorn. So each life,

In little, retold the tale; each separate man

Was, in himself, the world’s epitome,

A microcosm, wherein who runs may read