Their height in heaven comforts not, Their glory nought to me;'T was best imperfect, as it was;
I 'm finite, I can't see.
The house of supposition, The glimmering frontier That skirts the acres of perhaps, To me shows insecure.
The wealth I had contented me;
If 't was a meaner size, Then I had counted it until It pleased my narrow eyes Better than larger values, However true their show;This timid life of evidence Keeps pleading, "I don't know."XVI.
There is a shame of nobleness Confronting sudden pelf, --A finer shame of ecstasy Convicted of itself.
A best disgrace a brave man feels, Acknowledged of the brave, --One more "Ye Blessed" to be told;
But this involves the grave.