Xxiii

I sat up. All was still again. I breathed free: to my heart, back fled The warmth. "But, all the world!"--I said. I stooped and picked a leaf of fern, And recollected I might learn From books, how many myriad sorts Of fern exist, to trust reports, Each as distinct and beautiful As this, the very first I cull. Think, from the first leaf to the last! Conceive, then, earth's resources! Vast Exhaustless beauty, endless change Of wonder! And this foot shall range Alps, Andes,--and this eye devour The bee-bird and the aloe-flower?