1758
I do not represent
Or signify
One thing beyond this small space held;
No voice to sound
To who would hear,
No eye to sight
What cannot be seen.
From a piece of time
Does the least feather of a pigeon depend,
And my mortal soul,
That spires could touch
If I would them,
With every else will end
In the merest trough of matter,
A once of nothing.