Ample space it encloses, but worldly space
Which now the mountains humble;
Brokenly rounded for the ornaments
Of marble, stucco, paint, for angels' heads
That peer from fluffy clouds above the central altar,
Half-Cupids puffed or so rotundly fleshed
And chubby-cheeked that they could fall,
Though here, cloud-draped, they rest,
Hover or on their stubby wings ascend
To where no eye unaided
Can follow, see their lineaments dissolve.

And down on earth, in sunshine,
Air without angels, only clouds
Too high, far, thin to matter,
...