The parties twain a wordy war waged in debate...

The parties twain a wordy war waged in debate; The Romans’ show of science did predominate. 45 The Chinamen then asked to have a house assigned For their especial use; and one for Rome designed, Th’ allotted houses stood on either side one street; In one the Chinese, one the Roman, artists meet. The Chinese asked a hundred paints for their art's use; The sovereign his resources would not them refuse.

Each morning from the treasury rich colours’ store Was served out to the Chinese till they asked no more. The Romans argued: "Colour or design is vain; We simply have to banish soil and filth amain." 50 They closed their gate. To burnish then they set themselves; As heaven's vault, simplicity filled all their shelves. Vast difference there is ’twixt colours and not one. The colours are as clouds; simplicity's the moon.

Whatever tinge you see embellishing the clouds, You know comes from the sun, the moon, or stars in crowds. At length the Chinamen their task had quite fulfilled. With joy intense their hearts did beat, their bosoms thrilled. The sovereign came, inspected all their rich designs, 55 And lost his heart with wonder at their talents’ signs. He then passed to the Romans, that his eyes might see. The curtains were withdrawn, to show whate’er might be.

The Chinese paintings all, their whole designs in full, Reflected truly were on that high-burnished wall. Whatever was depicted by the Chinese art Was reproduced by mirrors, perfect every part. Those Romans are our mystics;-know, my worthy friend; No art, no learning; study, none;-but gain their end. They polish well their bosoms, burnish bright their hearts, 60 Remove all stain of lust, of self, pride, hate's deep smarts.

That mirror's purity prefigures their hearts’ trust; With endless images reflections it incrust. The formless Form the thousand thousand hidden forms Flashed in his breast on Moses’ heart, like mirrored storms. That Form, ’tis true, the heaven of heavens cannot contain; Nor all the space between the zenith and the main. These numbered are, and limited within their bounds; The mirror of the heart is boundless in its rounds.

Here, reason stands aghast, O erring child of sense; 65 The heart's with God,-the heart is God, boundless, immense From all eternity, the figures of all things, Unnumbered, multitudinous, gleam in heart's wings. To all eternity each new-created form In heart of saint reflected is, most multiform.