569 I reckon—when I count it all— First—Poets—Then the Sun— Then Summer—Then the Heaven of God— And then—the List is done— But, looking back—the First so seems To Comprehend the Whole— The Others look a needless Show— So I write—Poets—All— Their Summer—lasts a Solid Year— They can afford a Sun The East—would deem extravagant— And if the Further Heaven— Be Beautiful as they prepare For Those who worship Them— It is too difficult a Grace— To justify the Dream—SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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