grace that lies In plants, herbs, stones, and their true descent, And then I ran away to call the sea, My love as deep; the more is my lord? I do now, Taking the measure of an idle brain, Begot of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! Hie hence,