5
Once oft I strain'd mine eyes in hope to see
The form by human fancy drawn in air
Of a first Good, first Perfect and first Fair;
For infinitely great, me-seem'd, must be
The Power to which my soul could bend her knee—
To which should rise the passion of her prayer.
But now such fruitless quest do I forbear,
Finding all fulness in Humanity.
Of the great thoughts that quicken and sustain
None was inspired by supernatural breath;
Each sprang unprompted in a human brain.
And, search the depths below, the heights above,
Nought nobler wilt thou find than human love—
Love, that is subject to, yet conquers, Death.
The form by human fancy drawn in air
Of a first Good, first Perfect and first Fair;
For infinitely great, me-seem'd, must be
The Power to which my soul could bend her knee—
To which should rise the passion of her prayer.
But now such fruitless quest do I forbear,
Finding all fulness in Humanity.
Of the great thoughts that quicken and sustain
None was inspired by supernatural breath;
Each sprang unprompted in a human brain.
And, search the depths below, the heights above,
Nought nobler wilt thou find than human love—
Love, that is subject to, yet conquers, Death.
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