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Rh 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.