The Sky is an immortal¹ Tent built by the Sons of Los；

    And every Space that a Man views around his dwelling-place，

    Standing² on his own roof， or in his garden on a mount

    Of twenty-five cubits in height， such Space is his Universe：

    And on its verge³ the Sun rises and sets， the Clouds bow

    To meet the flat Earth and the Sea in such an order'd Space；

    The Starry⁴ Heavens reach no further， but here bend and set

    On all sides， and the two Poles turn on their valves of gold；

    And if he move his dwelling-place， his Heavens also move

    Where'er he goes， and all his neighbourhood bewail his loss.

    Such are the Spaces callèd Earth， and such its dimension.

    As to that false appearance which appears to the reasoner，

    As of a Globe rolling thro' Voidness， it is a delusion⁵ of Ulro.

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