Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/164

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wonder what they mean by sin,

The blest, who in the tabernacle pray;

I have not found it on my spiritual way,

The soul's contagion, the black spot within,

Unto annihilating death akin,

That mines with preternatural decay,

And eats the substance of the soul away,—

The soul, in which true being doth begin.

Although I bear all sorrows of the globe

Through love and pity, and them feel and see,

And all things search, and in myself most probe,

I find it not in others nor in me;

With such pure elements did nature robe

My substance, and my senses cleanse and free.