Such a web, simple and subtle,
Weave we on earth here, in impotent strife
Backward and forward each throwing his shuttle—
Death ending all with a knife?"
—Master Hugues.
"And yonder at foot of the fronting ridge,
That takes the turn to a range beyond,
Is the chapel, reach'd by the one-arch'd bridge,
Where the water is stopp'd in a stagnant pond,
Danced over by the midge."