So; take our secret back to sleep with us:—
And in that sleep I know that thou wilt choose
The fact, and leave the dream, and so disdain
These far-off splendours, catch the nearer joy,
Take squalid kisses, banish crested love
Intangible. Delights it thee, my friend,
To reach the summits unattained before,
And stumble on their snows? Thine old desire
Was just to touch the mere impalpable.
To formulate the formless. Otherwise