Inside of King's College Chapel, Cambridge

.   Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense,
 With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned-
 Albeit labouring for a scanty band
 Of white-robed Scholars only-this immense
 And glorious Work of fine intelligence!
 Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore
 Of nicely-calculated less or more;
 So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense
 These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof
  Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells,
  Where light and shade repose, where music dwells
  Lingering-and wandering on as loth to die;
  Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof
  That they were born for immortality.