Here in the sight of splendor,
of golden stoneof flying buttresses and of diamonds,
where kings have slept, and played, and dreamed,
here I stand and find it untouched.
I am an outsider, and it is aloof.
If I touch the glass,
it will not shatter,
and if it does,
no one will blame
Oh to be visible, oh to be tangible!
To know that I, little I, will leave a mark upon the world.
Too much to hope then,
that I will be remembered someday for the
eyes that see and fingers that know.
Too much to hope without possessing that splendor,