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William Wordsworth - Inside of King`s College Chapel, Cambridge
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.   Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, 
    With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned—
    Albeit labouring for a scanty band
    Of white-robed Scholars only—this immense
    And glorious Work of fine intelligence!
    Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore
    Of nicely-calculated less or more;
    So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense
    These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof
   Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells,
   Where light and shade repose, where music dwells
   Lingering—and wandering on as loth to die;
   Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof
   That they were born for immortality.
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