 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
XVII. TO A SCEPTIC.
How oft that haughty and far-flashing eye,Have I not seen thee to the wide heavens raise,
Or on the dark earth root thy tyrannous gaze
As on a scroll with piercing scrutiny!
Great scorn it seemed and great indignity
That aught should mock thy search:—and yet that haze
Which veils the loftiest, deepest things, obeys,
Be sure, the cloud-compelling Power on high.
Our life is finite—let the mind be so;
And therefore bound the Spirit's appetites:
Some things we cannot, some we should not know;
Wisdom there is that weakens, lore that blights—
He too that walks among the eternal lights
Casts, as He moves, His shadow oft below!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |