What Twigs We held by— Oh the View When Life’s swift River striven through We pause before a further plunge To take Momentum— As the Fringe
Upon a former Garment shows The Garment cast, Our Props disclose So scant, so eminently small Of Might to help, so pitiful To sink, if We had labored, fond The diligence were not more blind
How scant, by everlasting Light The Discs that satisfied Our Sight— How dimmer than a Saturn’s Bar The Things esteemed, for Things that are!
