. Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, <br />With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned- <br />Albeit labouring for a scanty band <br />Of white-robed Scholars only-this immense <br />And glorious Work of fine intelligence! <br />Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore <br />Of nicely-calculated less or more; <br />So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense <br />These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof <br />Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, <br />Where light and shade repose, where music dwells <br />Lingering-and wandering on as loth to die; <br />Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof <br />That they were born for immortality.<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/inside-of-king-s-college-chapel-cambridge-2/
