LXXV.

But gaze thou not on these; though heaven’s own hues In their soft clouds and radiant tracery vie-- Though tints, of sun-born glory, may suffuse Arch, column, rich mosaic--pass thou by The stately tombs, where Eastern Cæsars lie, Beneath their trophies: pause not here; for know, A deeper source of all sublimity Lives in man’s bosom, than the world can show In nature or in art--above, around, below.