 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill
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What is the visible, tangible world all worth,
Except for symbols, somewhat coarse and large,
Like the raised letters for the blind to feel?
The shadowy domes serenely lifted up,
The soundless depths that deepen down in thought,
Make one small world draw dwindling to a point.
The little earth! Think, that the same bright sun,
Which rises there from the familiar hill
And laughs its level joy straight to our eyes,
Is wrapping half the globe in morning light,
Kindling dew-diamonds on the tropic palm,
Tipping the white gull's wing o'er Northern seas
And striking frozen fire from the iceberg's towers
At either pole.
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill
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