[BNP/E3, 79 – 31]

THE POET.

What is thy name, and is it true that thou

A land unknown of men inhabitest?

What pain obscure is figured on thy brow?

What cares upon thy heart contrive their nest?

To human things the purest and the best

No constant beauty will thy soul allow,

And through the world thou bear’st thy deep unrest

Lock’d in a smile thy eyes[1] do disavow.

Being of wild and weird imaginings,

Whose thoughts are greater than mere things can bind,

What is that thing thou sleekest within things?

What is that thought thy thinking cannot bind?

For what high air has thy string spirit wings?

To what high vision aches is to be blind?

Alexander Search.

[31^v]

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[1] eyes ^/words\