Classic Poem

If still they live, whom touch nor sight
?Nor any subtlest sense can prove,
Though dwelling past our day and night,
?At farthest star's remove,—

Oh, not because these skies they change
?For upper deeps of sky unknown,
Shall that which made them ours grow strange,
?For spirit holds its own;

Whether it pace this earth around,
?Or cross, with printless, buoyant feet,
The unreverberant Profound
?That hath no name nor mete!