|
So build we up
The being that we are. For was it meant
That we should pore, and dwindle as we
pore,
Forever dimly pore on things minute,
On solitary objects, still beheld
In disconnection, dead and spiritless,
And still dividing, and dividing still,
Break down all grandeur, still
unsatisfied
With our unnatural toil, while littleness
May yet become more little, waging thus
An impious warfare with the very life
Of our own souls?
--Wordsworth
|