Alas! We Grasp At Clouds, And Beat The Air, Vexing That Spirit We Intend To Clear. Can Thought Beyond The Bounds Of Matter Climb? Or Who Shall Tell Me What Is Space Or Time? In Vain We Lift Up Our Presumptuous Eyes To What Our Maker To Their Ken Denies: The Searcher Follows Fast, The Object Faster Flies. The Little Which Imperfectly We Find Seduces Only The Bewildered Mind To Fruitless Search Of Something Yet Behind. Various Discussions Tear Our Heated Brain: Opinions Often Turn; Still Doubts Remain; And Who Indulges Thought Increases Pain. How Narrow Limits Were To Wisdom Given? Earth She Surveys; She Thence Would Measure Heaven: Through Mists Obscure Now Wings Her Tedious Way Now Wanders, Dazzled With Too Bright A Day, And From The Summit Of A Pathless Coast Sees Infinite, And In That Sight Is Lost. Remember That The Cursed Desire To Know, Offspring Of Adam, Was Thy Source Of Wo; Why Wilt Thou Then Renew The Vain Pursuit, And Rashly Catch At The Forbidden Fruit? With Empty Labour And Eluded Strife Seeking By Knowledge To Attain To Life, For Ever From That Fatal Tree Debarr'D, Which Flaming Swords And Angry Cherubs Guard.