To behold the wandering moon, / Riding near her highest noon, / Like one that had been led astray / Through the heav'n's wide pathless way; / And oft, as if her head she bowed, / Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Thence up he flew, and on the Tree of Life,/ The middle tree and highest there that grew, / Sat like a cormorant.
Lifted up so high I disdained subjection, and thought one step higher would set me highest.