Thou smiledst; on that circling, which in thee
Seem''d as reflected splendour, while I mus''d;
For I therein, methought, in its own hue
Beheld our image painted: steadfastly
I therefore por''d upon the view. As one
Who vers''d in geometric lore, would fain
Measure the circle; and, though pondering long
And deeply, that beginning, which he needs,
Finds not; e''en such was I, intent to scan
The novel wonder, and trace out the form,
How to the circle fitted, and therein
How plac''d: but the flight was not for my wing;
Had not a flash darted athwart my mind,
And in the spleen unfolded what it sought.
Here vigour fail''d the tow''ring fantasy:
But yet the will roll''d onward, like a wheel
In even motion, by the Love impell''d,
That moves the sun in heav''n and all the stars.
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