Till he had peopled them with beings bright

As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born jars,

And human frailties, were forgotten quite:

Could he have kept his spitit to that flight

He had been happy: But this clay will sink

Its spark immortal, enving it the light

To which it mounts, as if to break the link

That keeps us from you heaven which woos us to its brink

  -Samuel Taylor Coleridge‘s  Djection: An Ode-