SonnetOn a Falling Group in the Last Judgement ofMichael Angelo, in the Cappella Sistina.How vast, how dread, overwhelming is the thoughtOf Space interminable! to the soulA circling weight that crushes into noughtHer mighty faculties! a wond'rous whole,Without or parts, beginning, or an end!How fearful then on desp'rate wings to sendThe fancy e'en amid the waste profound!Yet, born as if all daring to astound,Thy giant hand, oh Angelo, hath hurl'dE'en human forms, with all their mortal weight,Down the dread void--fall endless as their fate!Already now they seem from world to worldFor ages thrown; yet doom'd, another past,Another still to reach, nor e'er to reach the last!
How vast, how dread, overwhelming is the thoughtOf Space interminable! to the soulA circling weight that crushes into noughtHer mighty faculties! a wond'rous whole,Without or parts, beginning, or an end!How fearful then on desp'rate wings to sendThe fancy e'en amid the waste profound!Yet, born as if all daring to astound,Thy giant hand, oh Angelo, hath hurl'dE'en human forms, with all their mortal weight,Down the dread void--fall endless as their fate!Already now they seem from world to worldFor ages thrown; yet doom'd, another past,Another still to reach, nor e'er to reach the last!