If they would stop for one minute, but one,
Thought might return from spheres distant and dim;
Thought has forsaken me; I am alone,
With but one consciousness—nothing but him.
We have reach'd the station—the train is left:
What I am doing I know must be done;
I am a creature whose body's bereft
Of all sensations and feelings save one.
I don't think I see the streets and the lights,
Or hear the answers my questions brought;