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The very meanest things are made supreme

With innate ecstasy. No grain of sand

But moves a bright and million-peopled land,

And hath its Edens and its Eves, I deem.

For love, though blind himself, a curious eye

Hath lent me, to behold the heart of things,

And touched mine ear with power. Thus, far or nigh,

Minute or mighty, fixed or free with wings,

Delight, from many a nameless covert sly,

Peeps sparkling, and in tones familiar sings.

Laman Blanchard.