Chapter II
Now at thy soft recalling voice I riseWhere thought is lord o’er Time’s complete estate,Like as a dove from out the gray sedge fliesTo tree-tops green where cooes his heavenly mate.From these clear coverts high and cool I seeHow every time with every time is knit,And each to all is mortised cunningly,And none is sole or whole, yet all are fit.Thus, if this Age but as a comma show‘Twixt weightier clauses of large-worded years,My calmer soul scorns not the mark: I knowThis crooked point Time’s complex sentence clears.Yet more I learn while, Friend! I sit by thee:Who sees all time, sees all eternity.