Until the Drama which that hush foretold
Did come indeed as at a monarch's call;
Although its pregnant scenes were not unrolled
Upon that sea-stage, nor within that wall
Of circling crystal, nor were lamped at all
By that serenest moon, they claimed a stage
Of ampler scope and grander equipage.
The stars are speeding in their companies;
God's chariots in divine array, they roll
Circling the sphere of three infinities,
Our symbol of His thought-confounding Whole
As Plato saw them with his clear-eyed soul,[1]
He saw, we saw; and each one tries to tell
The Vision each one knows ineffable.
And every silver-burning chariot-sphere
Whose wheels churn Æther to the foam of Light
Is guided by its seraph-charioteer,
Serenely regnant o'er its fulgent flight,
Sceptred and crowned and clothed with awful might:
The infinite armies of the Lord, whose pinions
Flash fire throughout His infinite dominions.
And yet, as every dreamer seems to be
The centre of the action of his dream,
Our speck of this poor earth-speck was to me
The single central fountain whence did stream
The growing river of that drama's theme;
Which rolled so far and broadened out so wide
That all the worlds were floated on its tide.
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SHELLEY.
