What is Heaven? and what are ye
Who its brief expanse inherit?
What are suns and spheres which flee
With the instinct of that spirit
Of which ye are but a part?
Drops which nature's mighty heart
Drives thro' thinnest veins —
What is Heaven? a globe of dew,
Filling in the morning new
Some eyed flower who see young leaves waken
On an unimagined world:
Constellated suns unshaken,
Orbits measureless, are furled
In that frail and faded sphere
With ten millions gathered there,
To tremble, gleam, and disappear.