Those numerous worlds that throng the firmament,
And ask more space in heaven, can roll at large
In man’s capacious thought, and still leave room
For ampler orbs, for new creations, there.
Can such a soul contract itself, to gripe
A point of no dimension, of no weight? 1253
It can; it does: the world is such a point;
And, of that point, how small a part enslaves!
How small a part—of nothing, shall I say?
Why not?—Friends, our chief treasure! how they drop!