I reckon when I count it all
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