Imagination swirls in swallow flight,
Giddy with Beauty, deepening—Oh, how glide
From star to star, to the haloes, season-dyed
And countless! Its wings shrivel up like night.
Oh, yea, the Sun in one subliming rise
From Wisdom's infinite mind! This Reason knows.
It has no set. There, Sense, with weals or woes
For beads, or fingers, count our shuts of eyes,
Excluding Knowledge. What! God's joy to close
And all its goodness break and drift cloud-wise?