Sonnet. About Jesus. V.
But I have looked on pictures made by man, Wherein, at first, appeared but chaos wild; So high the art transcended, it beguiled The eye as formless, and without a plan; Until the spirit, brooding o'er, began To see a purpose rise, like mountains piled, When God said: Let the dry earth, undefiled, Rise from the waves: it rose in twilight wan. And so I fear thy pictures were too strange For us to pierce beyond their outmost look; A vapour and a darkness; a sealed book; An atmosphere too high for wings to range: At God's designs our spirits pale and change, Trembling as at a void, thought cannot brook.
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"But I have looked on pictures made by man,..."
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