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Poem by Margaret Cavendish The Infinites of Matter If all the World were a confused heape, What was beyond? for this World is not great: We finde it Limit hath, and Bound, And like a Ball in compasse is made round: And if that Matter, with which the World's made, Be infinite, then more Worlds may be said; Then Infinites of Worlds may we agree, As well, as Infinites of Matters bee. Margaret Cavendish Margaret Cavendish's other poems:
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