As pen in writer’s hand he doth his guide obey.
Whoever sees not in the lines the writer’s hand,
May fancy ’tis the pen alone has all command.
Of this, the Gnostic’s privilege, a trace ’d suffice
To rob of sleep and reason vulgar souls of ice.
His spirit wanders in the groves of th’ absolute.
His soul is easy; body, still, calm, quiet, mute.75
The two absolved from greed, lust, sense, care, fear also;
Each, like a bird uncaged, is free; roams to and fro.[89]
Should he, birdlike, be whistled back to trap of sense,