Their Height In Heaven Comforts Not, Their Glory Nought To Me; 'T Was Best Imperfect, As It Was; I 'M Finite, I Can't See. The House Of Supposition, The Glimmering Frontier That Skirts The Acres Of Perhaps, To Me Shows Insecure. The Wealth I Had Contented Me; If 'T Was A Meaner Size, Then I Had Counted It Until It Pleased My Narrow Eyes Better Than Larger Values, However True Their Show; This Timid Life Of Evidence Keeps Pleading, "I Don't Know."