'And yet it moves!' Ah, Truth, where wert thou then <br />When all for thee they racked each piteous limb? <br />Wert thou in heaven, and busy with thy hymn <br />When those poor hands convulsed that held thy pen? <br />Art thou a phantom that deceives! men <br />To their undoing? or dost thou watch him <br />Pale, cold, and silent in his dungeon dim? <br />And wilt thou ever speak to him again? <br />'It moves, it moves! Alas, my flesh was weak! <br />That was a hideous dream! I'll cry aloud <br />How the green bulk wheels sunward day by day! <br />Ah me! ah me! perchance my heart was proud <br />That I alone should know that word to speak! <br />And now, sweet Truth, shine upon these, I pray.'<br /><br />George MacDonald<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/galileo-3/
