SILENCE, NOT DEATH.
35
Truth speaks in the senseless, the spirit;
But here in this palpable part
We sound the low notes, but are silent
To music sublimed in the heart.
Too few and too gross our dull senses,
And clogged with the mire of the road,
Till we loathe their coarse bondage; as seabirds
Encaged on a cliff, look abroad
On the ocean and limitless heaven.
Alight with the beautiful stars.
And hear what they say, not the creakings
That rise from our sensual bars.
O life, let me dream, let her presence
Be near me, her fragrance, her breath;
Let me sleep, if in slumber the seeking;
Sleep on, if the finding be death.
