Classic Poem

What was Solomon's mind?
If he was wise in truth,
'Twas something hard to find
And delicate: a mouse
Tingling, and small, and smooth,
Hid in vast haunted house.

By smallness quite beset —
Stillest when most alive —
Shrinking to smaller yet
And livelier, until,
Gladly diminutive,
Still smoother, and more still,

He centres to an Eye,
A clean expectancy,
That, from the narrow black
Safe velvet of his crack,
Quivering, quiet, dumb,
Drinks up the lighted room.