Page:In memoriam (IA inmemoriam00tennrich).pdf/105



, in thy second state sublime, Thy ransom'd reason change replies With all the circle of the wise, The perfect flower of human time;

And if thou cast thine eyes below, How dimly character'd and slight, How dwarf'd a growth of cold and night, How blanch'd with darkness must I grow!

Yet turn thee to the doubtful shore, Where thy first form was made a man: I loved thee, Spirit, and love, nor can The soul of Shakspeare love thee more.