Nothing Small -poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

“There’s nothing great
Nor small,” has said a poet of our day,
And truly I reiterate. Nothing’s small!
No lily-muffled hum of summer bee
But finds some coupling with the spinning stars:
No pebble at your foot but proves a sphere;
No chaffinch, but implies the cherubim.
Ay, glance on my own thin-viened wrist,
In such a little tremor of the blood
The whole strong clamor of a vehement soul
Doth utter itself distance. Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,
And daub their natural faces unaware
More and more from the first similitude.