Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

This world was once a fluid haze of light, Till toward the centre set the starry tides, And eddied into suns, that wheeling cast The planets: then the monster, then the man.

Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast, Or sorrow such a changeling be?

And common is the commonplace, And vacant chaff well meant for grain.

It is unconceivable that the whole Universe was merely created for us who live in this third-rate planet of a third-rate moon.

On all things created remaineth the half-effaced signature of God, Somewhat of fair and good, though blotted by the finger of corruption.

Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.