Departed to the judgment,

What of—my Music!Since the sole ear I cared to charm—Passive—as Granite—laps My Music—Sobbing—will suit—as well as psalm!Would but the ‘Memnon’ of the Desert—Teach me the strainThat vanquished Him—When He—surrendered to the Sunrise—Maybe—that—would awaken—them!

Whose table once aGuest but notThe second time is set.Whose crumbs the crows inspectAnd with ironic cawFlap past it to the Farmer’s Corn–Men eat of it and die.

That what we cherished, so unknownTo her desire seemed.So satisfied to goWhere none of us should be,Immediately, that anguish stoopedAlmost to jealousy.

Proud of my night, since thou, with moons, dos’t shake it.Not to partake thy passion, -my humilityThou can’st not boast, like Jesus, drunken without companionWas the strong cup of anguish brewed for the NazareneThou can’st not pierce tradition with the peerless puncture,See! I usurped thy crucifix to honor mine!

Hiding individuals from the EarthSuperposition helps, as well as love—Tenderness decreases as we prove—

The Soul cannot be rid—As easy the secreting herBehind the Eyes of God.The deepest hid is sighted firstAnd scant to Him the Crowd—What triple Lenses burn uponThe Escapade from God—