Our eyes; no branch of Reason's growing lopped;

Nor dreaming on a dream; but fortified

By day to penetrate black midnight; see,

Hear, feel, outside the senses; even that we,

The specks of dust upon a mound of mould,

We who reflect those rays, though low our place,

So may we read, and little find them cold:

Not frosty lamps illumining dead space,