human
And she that was so fair, I saw her lie, The smallest thing in God's great firmament, Till night was lit the darkest, and on high Her sisters glittered, though her light was spent; I strained, to follow her, each aching eye, So swiftly at her Maker's will she went; I looked again--I looked--the star was gone, And nothing marked in heaven where she had shone.
gpt
Gone! said the Poet,
human
gpt
How is it sad, my son? all reverently The old man answered;
human
Her mission she fulfilled assuredly, The Poet cried;
gpt
If to reflect a light that is divine Makes that which doth reflect it better seen, And if to see is to contemn the shrine, 'Twere surely better it had never been: It had been better for her NOT TO SHINE, And for me NOT TO SING. Better, I ween, For us to yield no more that radiance bright, For them, to lack the light than scorn the light.