Infinitude.

Imagination—here the Power so called

Through sad incompetence of human speech,

That awful Power rose from the mind’s abyss

Like an unfathered vapour that enwraps,        

At once, some lonely traveller. I was lost;

Halted without an effort to break through;

But to my conscious soul I now can say—

‘I recognize thy glory’: in such strength

Of usurpation, when the light of sense        

Goes out, but with a flash that has revealed

The invisible world, doth greatness make abode,

There harbours; whether we be young or old,

Our destiny, our being’s heart and home,

Is with infinitude, and only there;        

With hope it is, hope that can never die,

Effort, and expectation, and desire,

And something evermore about to be.

William Wordsworth, from "The Prelude"