Rich raptures, you say, our dreams assume,
Slaking the heart’s immortal thirst?
Only the old we reillume;
But think—to have dreamed the flowers first!

Think,—to have dreamed the first blue sea;
Imaged every illustrious hue
Of the earliest sunset’s tapestry;
And the snow,—and the birds, when their songs were new!

Think,—from the blue of highest heaven
To have sown all the stars, to have whispered “Light!”—
Hung a moon in a prismy even,
Spun a world on its splendid flight!

To have first conceived of boundless Space;
To have thought so small as to garb the trees;
All planet years in your mind’s embrace,—
And the midge’s life, for all of these!

And Man still boasts of his brain’s weak best
In dream or invention; from first to last
Blunders ’mid wonders barely guessed.
And fondly believes that his thoughts are “vast”!

From The Falconer of God and Other Poems (Yale University Press, 1914) by William Rose Bénet. Copyright © 1914 by William Rose Bénet. This poem is in the public domain.