I ask myself, did Galileo know Fear, when he saw the gleaming globes in space, Like unto mine, whose lens revealed to me— Not the chill glory of Heaven’s Infinite— But all the swarming, all the seething motes The basilisks, the armoured cockatrice, We cannot see, but are in their degrees— Why not?—to their own apprehension— I dare not speak it—why not microcosms As much as Man, poor man, whose ruffled pride Cannot abide the Infinite’s questioning From smallest as from greatest? [Desunt cetera.]
