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Within King's College Chapel, Cambridge by William Wordsworth |
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Tax not the
royal Saint with vain expense,
With ill-matched aims
the architect who planned
(Albeit labouring for a
scanty band
Of white-robed scholars only) this
immense
And glorious work of fine intelligence!
- Give all thou canst; high heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely-calculated less or more: -
So deemed the
man who fashioned for the sense
These lofty
pillars, spread that branching roof
Self-poised, and
scooped into ten thousand cells
Where light and shade
repose, where music dwells
Lingering -and wandering
on as loath to die;
Like thoughts whose very
sweetness yieldeth proof
That they were born for
immortality.
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