Now at thy soft recalling voice I rise Where thought is lord o'er Time's complete estate, Like as a dove from out the gray sedge flies To tree-tops green where coos his heavenly mate. From these clear coverts high and cool I see How every time with every time is knit, And each to all is mortised cunningly, And none is sole or whole, yet all are fit. Thus, if this Age but as a comma show ‘Twixt weightier clauses of large-worded years, My calmer soul scorns not the mark: I know This crooked point Time's complex sentence clears. Yet more I learn while, Friend! I sit by thee; Who sees all time, sees all eternity.