The Soul has Bandaged moments

Salute her — with long fingers —

Caress her freezing hair —

Sip, Goblin, from the very lips

The Lover — hovered — o'er —

Unworthy, that a thought so mean

Accost a Theme — so — fair —

The soul has moments of Escape —

When bursting all the doors —

She dances like a Bomb, abroad,

And swings upon the Hours,

As do the Bee — delirious borne —

Long Dungeoned from his Rose —

Touch Liberty — then know no more,

But Noon, and Paradise —

The Soul's retaken moments —

When, Felon led along,

With shackles on the plumed feet,

And staples, in the Song,

The Horror welcomes her, again,

These, are not brayed of Tongue —