Inside of King's College Chapel, Cambridge
Lines:14
TAX not the royal Saint with vain expense,With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned--Albeit labouring for a scanty bandOf white robed Scholars only--this immenseAnd glorious Work of fine intelligence!Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the loreOf nicely-calculated less or more;So deemed the man who fashioned for the senseThese lofty pillars, spread that branching roofSelf-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells,Where light and shade repose, where music dwellsLingering--and wandering on as loth to die;Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proofThat they were born for immortality.