[BNP/E3, 49A1 – 24]

Oh, Master, Oh when I read 

My cloud-like mind is shaken into tears

And my weak soul {…} fears

That thou shouldst have been and have been of me

Seems as unreal as death when takes

Me whom we know well

[24v]

Thou art the greatest, deepest miracle

That such things should be spoken, that as more soul to speak

Being a human semblance this should speak

Before one thing should have poems to fling

The more I think upon, the more †

The man of doubt in me doth rise and swell

Protests and tender miracle!

Can one well be. Ay there is indeed!

Wert thou no wizard, no magician

Thou with thy greatness dost compose on thought

Till truth deep pass thou