V.

But I have looked on pictures made by man,

Wherein, at first, appeared but chaos wild;

So high the art transcended, it beguiled

The eye as formless, and without a plan;

Until the spirit, brooding o'er, began

To see a purpose rise, like mountains piled,

When God said: Let the dry earth, undefiled,

Rise from the waves: it rose in twilight wan.

And so I fear thy pictures were too strange

For us to pierce beyond their outmost look;

A vapour and a darkness; a sealed book;

An atmosphere too high for wings to range:

At God's designs our spirits pale and change,

Trembling as at a void, thought cannot brook.