From Man or Angel the great Architect Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge, His secrets, to be scanned by them who ought Rather admire. Or, if they list to try Conjecture, he his fabric of the Heavens Hath left to their disputes - perhaps to move His laughter at their quaint opinions wide Hereafter, when they come to model Heaven And calculate the stars: how they will wield The mighty frame: how build, unbuild, contrive To save appearances; how gird the Sphere With Centric and Eccentric scribbled o'er, Cycle and Epicycle, Orb in Orb.

A boundless continent, Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of night Starless expos'd.

Now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.

From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone, But rush upon me thronging.

Yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible.

So he with difficulty and labour hard Mov'd on, with difficulty and labour he.

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.