How sad! To deny it's splendid—
that dazzling mass—just because
it isn't a thing men did
and isn't even intended
for profit or applause

though overwhelmingly there
by the hundred-mile, by the billion-
ton buoyed on blue air
a feather, a leaf, a hair
would fall through...Can someone

resent that probability
might not apply up there—
only a purity
of form and radiance he
must look up to but can't share?