Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/312

Rh And certain to be called so presently, When things shall have their names. Look long enough On any peasant’s face here, coarse and lined. You’ll catch Antinous somewhere in that clay, As perfect-featured as he yearns at Rome From marble pale with beauty; then persist, And, if your apprehension’s competent, You’ll find some fairer angel at his back, As much exceeding him, as he the boor, And pushing him with empyreal disdain For ever out of sight. Ay, Carrington Is glad of such a creed! an artist must, Who paints a tree, a leaf, a common stone With just his hand, and finds it suddenly A-piece with and conterminous to his soul. Why else do these things move him, leaf or stone? The bird’s not moved, that pecks at a spring-shoot; Nor yet the horse, before a quarry, a-graze: But man, the two-fold creature, apprehends The two-fold manner, in and outwardly, And nothing in the world comes single to him. A mere itself,—cup, column, or candlestick, All patterns of what shall be in the Mount; The whole temporal show related royally, And build up to eterne significance Through the open arms of God. ‘There’s nothing great Nor small,’ has said a poet of our day, (Whose voice will ring beyond the curfew of eve And not be thrown out by the matin’s bell) And truly, I reiterate,. . nothing’s small!