Cxx

Just so, in Venice' Square, that things were at the close Was signalled to my sense; for I perceived arrest O' the change all round about. As if some impulse pressed Each gently into each, what was distinctness, late, Grew vague, and, line from line no longer separate, No matter what its style, edifice ... shall I say, Died into edifice? I find no simpler way Of saying how, without or dash or shock or trace Of violence, I found unity in the place Of temple, tower,--nay, hall and house and hut,--one blank Severity of peace in death; to which they sank Resigned enough, till ... ah, conjecture, I beseech, What special blank did they agree to, all and each? What common shape was that wherein they mutely merged Likes and dislikes of form, so plain before?