How vast, how dread, o'erwhelming, is the thought <br />Of space interminable! to the soul <br />A circling weight that crushes into naught <br />Her mighty faculties! a wondrous whole, <br />Without or parts, beginning, or an end! <br />How fearful, then, on desperate wings to send <br />The fancy e'en amid the waste profound! <br />Yet, born as if all daring to astound, <br />Thy giant hand, O Angelo, hath hurled <br />E'en human forms, with all their mortal weight, <br />Down the dread void,-fall endless as their fate! <br />Already now they seem from world to world <br />For ages thrown; yet doomed, another past, <br />Another still to reach, nor e'er to reach the last!<br /><br />Washington Allston<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-falling-group-in-the-last-judgment-of-michael-angelo-in-the-cappella-sistina/
