Such keenness from the living ray I met,
That, if mine eyes had turn’d away, methinks,
I had been lost; but, so embolden’d, on
I pass’d, as I remember, till my view
Hover’d the brink of dread infinitude.

O grace! unenvying of thy boon! that gav’st
Boldness to fix so earnestly my ken
On th’ everlasting splendour, that I look’d,
While sight was unconsum’d, and, in that depth,
Saw in one volume clasp’d of love, whatever
The universe unfolds; all properties
Of substance and of accident, beheld,
Compounded, yet one individual light
The whole.  And of such bond methinks I saw
The universal form:  for that whenever
I do but speak of it, my soul dilates
Beyond her proper self; and, till I speak,
One moment seems a longer lethargy,
Than five-and-twenty ages had appear’d
To that emprize, that first made Neptune wonder
At Argo’s shadow darkening on his flood.

With fixed heed, suspense and motionless,
Wond’ring I gaz’d; and admiration still
Was kindled, as I gaz’d.  It may not be,
That one, who looks upon that light, can turn
To other object, willingly, his view. 
For all the good, that will may covet, there
Is summ’d; and all, elsewhere defective found,
Complete.  My tongue shall utter now, no more
E’en what remembrance keeps, than could the babe’s
That yet is moisten’d at his mother’s breast. 
Not that the semblance of the living light
Was chang’d (that ever as at first remain’d)
But that my vision quickening, in that sole
Appearance, still new miracles descry’d,
And toil’d me with the change.  In that abyss
Of radiance, clear and lofty, seem’d methought,
Three orbs of triple hue clipt in one bound: 
And, from another, one reflected seem’d,
As rainbow is from rainbow:  and the third
Seem’d fire, breath’d equally from both.  Oh speech
How feeble and how faint art thou, to give
Conception birth!  Yet this to what I saw
Is less than little.  Oh eternal light! 
Sole in thyself that dwellst; and of thyself
Sole understood, past, present, or to come! 
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.