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’—

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