She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room
From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.
What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a million million of suns?
The last great Englishman is low.
In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past.
I sometimes find it half a sin, To put to words the grief i feel, For words like nature,half reveal, and half conceal the soul within.