“The thin, the fleeting atmosphere of God.”
O for the voice—of what? of whom?—What voice
Can answer to my wants, in such ascent,
As dares to deem one universe too small?
Tell me, Lorenzo! (for now fancy glows;
Fired in the vortex of almighty power)
Is not this home creation, in the map
Of universal nature, as a speck,
Like fair Britannia in our little ball;
Exceeding fair, and glorious, for its size, 1600