To strengthen our foundations is the task

Of this tough Age; not in your beams to bask,

Though, lighted by your beams, down mining caves

The rock it blasts, the hoarded foulness braves.

My sister sees no round beyond her mood;

To hawk this Age has dressed her head in hood.

Out of the course of ancient ruts and grooves,

It moves: O much for me to say it moves!