by AE
I faint rememb'ring all that shook my will;
How the light outposts even of paradise
O'ercame me with the witchery of eyes
Or delicate magic of the lips: how still
A motion white and fugitive can thrill
With longings that are immortalities.
How, if the heart to these frail enemies
Yields, can it hope to scale the heavenly hill,
See beauty in its fulness, or endure
The last temptation, which is but seeing
The gorgeous shadow of all that is its own?
That mirrored majesty is the last lure
To hide from it its own immortal being.
Heaven lies between the spirit and its throne.
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