 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
GREAT AUTHORS.
I love to read a work of mighty mindOff at a spell, and master it—a Whole,
Ay, “one entire chrysolite;” a goal
Wherein my soul sustaining sense may find
Of loftiest work completed, end designed.
Then build I up a temple for my soul,
Not piecemeal, with no fixed plan to control;
And contemplating I grow like in kind.
Noiseless the work, as angels went about;
No sound of axe or hammer, in some sense
Like thine, Jerusalem! No worldly rout
Doth enter there; but with fit audience,
Tho' few, I worship, and the pure incense
Fills all within—and some too passeth out!
| Stones from The Quarry | |