To Him, and sore besped
Leaves me, its captain, in such mutiny.
Will, deemed incorporate
With me, hath flown ere love, to expiate
Its sinful stay where He did habitate.
Ah me, if they had left a sepulchre;
But no—the light hath changed not, and in it
Of its same colour stir
Spirits I see not but phantasmed feel to flit.
Air, legioned with such, stirreth,