But I Have Looked On Pictures Made By Man, Wherein, At First, Appeared But Chaos Wild; So High The Art Transcended, It Beguiled The Eye As Formless, And Without A Plan; Until The Spirit, Brooding O'Er, Began To See A Purpose Rise, Like Mountains Piled, When God Said: Let The Dry Earth, Undefiled, Rise From The Waves: It Rose In Twilight Wan. And So I Fear Thy Pictures Were Too Strange For Us To Pierce Beyond Their Outmost Look; A Vapour And A Darkness; A Sealed Book; An Atmosphere Too High For Wings To Range: At God'S Designs Our Spirits Pale And Change, Trembling As At A Void, Thought Cannot Brook.