UNSEEN in the great minister dome of time, <br /> Whose shafts are centuries, its spangled roof <br /> The vaulted universe, our master sits, <br />And organ-voices like a far-off chime <br /> Roll thro' the aisles of thought. The sunlight flits <br />5 <br /> From arch to arch, and, as he sits aloof, <br />Kings, heroes, priests, in concourse vast, sublime, <br /> Glances of love and cries from battle-field, <br /> His wizard power breathes on the living air. <br />Warm faces gleam and pass, child, woman, man, <br />10 <br /> In the long multitude; but he, concealed, <br />Our bard eludes us, vainly each face we scan, <br /> It is not he; his features are not there; <br /> But, being thus hid, his greatness is revealed.<br /><br />Frederick George Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shakespeare-21/
