But a dim and noonday gleam 
 From the shadow of a dream! 
  
                   THIRD SPIRIT. 
 Peace! the abyss is wreathed with scorn 
 At your presumption, atom-born! 
 What is heaven? and what are ye 
     Who its brief expanse inherit? 
 What are suns and spheres which flee 
     With the instinct of that Spirit 
 Of which ye are but a part? 
 Drops which Nature’s mighty heart 
 Drives through thinnest veins. Depart! 
  
 What is heaven? A globe of dew,