As from profounder heart-strings torn,
And yet complete in man alone;
As if behind him travailing, the whole
Dark world were seeking in this eloquent flesh
Some other self, and sighing here to be
Born afresh, born afresh;
To win a world yet undiscovered in the soul:
‘O Voice,’ it cries, ‘utter; O Hands, deliver me!’
With such a dark quest in desirous eyes,
From the ancient East, as through a silent gate