But rounding luminous its fair ellipse
Around its central sun. Ay, yet again,
As in more faint sensations I detect,
With it too, round an Inner, Mightier orb,
Maybe with that too—this I dare not say—
Around, yet more, more central, more supreme,
Whate’er how numerous soe’er they be,
I am and feel myself, where’er I wind,
What vagrant chance soe’er I seem to obey
Communicably theirs.