Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.
Smiling the boy fell dead.
Needs there groan a world in anguish just to teach us sympathy?
Stung by the splendour of a sudden thought.
Oh, the little more, and how much it is! And the little less, and what worlds away.
What's come to perfection perishes. Things learned on earth we shall practice in heaven; Works done least rapidly Art most cherishes.