Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/158

 Making sweet close of his delicious toils— Lit light in wreaths and anadems, And pure quintessences of precious oils In hollow'd moons of gems,

To mimic heaven; and clapt her hands and cried, "I marvel if my still delight In this great house so royal-rich, and wide, Be flatter'd to the height.

"From shape to shape at first within the womb The brain is modell'd," she began, "And thro' all phases of all thought I come Into the perfect man.

"All Nature widens upward. Evermore The simpler essence lower lies: More complex is more perfect, owning more Discourse, more widely wise."