From The Sapphire: by W.S.Merwin

...blue not blinding, its light did not shine but was:

And came,

as the trumpet pierced through into silence,

To hover so close before my hands

That I might have held it

...but that, one does not handle

What one accepts as a miracle.

A great sapphire it was whose light and cradle

Held all things;

there were the delights of skies, though

Its cloudless blue was different:

of sea and meadow,

but their shapes not seen.