Poetry Archives

I shall not see thee. Dare I say
  No spirit ever brake the band
  That stays him from the native land
Where first he walk’d when claspt in clay?

No visual shade of some one lost,
  But he, the Spirit himself, may come
  Where all the nerve of sense is numb;
Spirit to Spirit, Ghost to Ghost.

O, therefore from thy sightless range
  With gods in unconjectured bliss,
  O, from the distance of the abyss
Of tenfold-complicated change,

Descend, and touch, and enter; hear
  The wish too strong for words to name;
  That in this blindness of the frame
My Ghost may feel that thine is near.