 | Collected Poems: With Autobiographical and Critical Fragments
|  |
|
And yet, methinks, men still to be might learn
Whatever eye can fathom, sense discern,
Might note the ether's whirl, the atom's play,
The thousand secrets thronging on the ray,—
Till for that knowledge' sake they scarce could bear
Veilless the tingling incidence of air;—
And yet no nigher for all their wisdom grew
To the old world's life, and pulse that beats therethro',
While round them still, with every hour that rolls,
Swept some unnoted populace of souls,—
Undreamt-of lay, as ere earth's life began,
The open secret and the end of man.
| Collected Poems: With Autobiographical and Critical Fragments
| |
|
