So close the heights to things set cycle deep In mould; so rich the hearts that fruiting keep Star plantings, moon ripenings, and the zest of sun In their quiet aisles—as infinite in one— So—but a grey of gossamer to hide All things, or nothing; humility, or pride— Of a like dust, ending to begin, As outer find its flaming Self within. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IMMORTALITY [OR, VERSE] by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR SONNET: 18. ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT by JOHN MILTON THE KING'S DAUGHTER by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE NOTHING WILL DIE by ALFRED TENNYSON IMPRESSIONS: LA FUITE DE LA LUNE by OSCAR WILDE COME HOME by WILLIAM HERVEY ALLEN JR. GEORGE LEVISON OR, THE SCHOOLFELLOWS by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |