The Spirit lasts—but in what mode—

The Spirit lasts — but in what mode — Below, the Body speaks, But as the Spirit furnishes — Apart, it never talks — The Music in the Violin Does not emerge alone But Arm in Arm with Touch, yet Touch Alone — is not a Tune — The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be? Does that know — now — or does it cease — That which to this is done, Resuming at a mutual date With every future one? Instinct pursues the Adamant, Exacting this Reply — Adversity if it may be, or Wild Prosperity, The Rumor's Gate was shut so tight Before my Mind was sown, Not even a Prognostic's Push Could make a Dent thereon —